


Behind Enemy Lines

by TrumpetGeek



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Don't say I didn't warn you, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Violence, and creepy pitch, everyone's a human, everyone's gonna need therapy, hurt jack and emotionally wrought aster, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-10 15:08:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrumpetGeek/pseuds/TrumpetGeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jack Frost, a disillusioned Lieutenant in the United States Navy, is shot down behind enemy lines, he begins to realize that his yearning for adventure might be his downfall. Luckily he’s got Tooth, North, Aster, and a whole boatload of people trying to get him home, and he might just make it…if the mysterious tracker doesn’t get to him first.</p><p>Or: The time Jack Frost literally charms the pants off of Commodore Bunnymund and then gives him a whole head of grey hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few things to be aware of before you read!
> 
> 1\. This fanfic borrows heavily from the movie Behind Enemy Lines (2001), which was based on real life events.  
> 2\. I’m a military historian but I’m not very familiar with the Bosnian War, or the Balkans in general. I’ve done some research, both on situations in the movie and independent of the movie, but it was by no means extensive.  
> 3\. Because of these two reasons I struggled with whether or not I wanted to keep the setting. I didn’t want to cast a bad light on Serbs or Croats or anyone involved in the Bosnian Conflict just because a few committed some pretty heinous crimes. I considered changing the war to a spirit war but in the end I just ran with what I already had written.  
> 4\. You may or may not notice that I’m pretty much taking liberties with NATO ranks, as well as foreign military hierarchy. It’s difficult to compare ranks, especially when the ranks don’t necessarily add up. So I’m using NATO ranks for everyone to make it easier!

The hillside is dotted with patches of trees.

The Serbs have no problem using their cover to sneak in buses full of people from nearby villages. It means that no one can see them hold the Bosnian Muslims at gunpoint as they are forced off of the buses.

The natural sounds of the forest mean that no one can hear the sounds of women and children begging for their lives, and the lives of their husbands, brothers, fathers, sons. No one can hear the clicks of the safeties, nor the spray of the bullets as an entire population is obliterated from the face of the earth.

The Serbs have no reason to worry about being discovered as they dig holes to plant fledgling trees –an attempt to cover up the atrocity they have just committed.

Yes, the hillside is dotted with patches of trees.

It is the perfect place to hide a mass grave.

* * *

 

“Go!”

With a single cry, chaos erupts around him –men are grunting, hands pushing hard at shoulders and chests, feet scrabbling for purchase. Three men break away from the scuffle, two of them turning and making a break for it, arms pumping as they gain distance. Several others follow, marking their targets. The third man dances backwards, completely relying on his brothers for his defense as he waits for the perfect moment –

There! Several yards away now, one of the two escapees –a golden haired man named Sanderson –turns his head back, searching. Their eyes lock, and Jack draws his right arm back and snaps it forward, relishing the release of tension in his muscles. Someone throws his hands up in a block, but nothing manages to impede the football’s progress as it rockets through the air in a near perfect spiral, helped along by the wind at Jack’s back.

Sandy stretches his hands up and catches the ball with a triumphant cry, and is immediately swarmed and chased down the deck of the aircraft carrier they are currently playing on –the _USS Carl Vinson_. Jack grins and watches the chaos unfold, sighing as the almost vicious wind ruffles his hair and raises goose bumps along his bare forearms. Winter in the Adriatic Sea can be quite unforgiving, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the cool sharpness of it.

“You know, Jack, you really should not be playing football when you are on high alert.”

Lieutenant Frost ignores the pained cry as his golden haired pilot is overrun and tackled to the deck, and turns to find a large man with salt-and-pepper hair in Russian Navy fatigues.

“Nick! When did you guys get back? Man, it’s been so boring here without you!” Jack says, grinning as Nicholas St. North laughs merrily and claps him hard on the back.

“Boring? That is good joke! Is never boring with you around.”

“Yeah, so is that high alert bullshit. Good joke.” North gives him a look, but Jack ignores it and stretches his arms above his head. “Whaddaya say we go grab some chow?”

The mess is crowded –the Marines and NATO forces are back from their latest mission –and it takes nearly twenty minutes for Jack and North to grab their food and find a seat. Jack makes a face at the sad state of the chicken, but as usual the big man barely gives his food a second glance before it is shoveled into his mouth. Thankfully Jack is distracted from the systematic destruction of North’s food by the appearance of Sandy, who looks slightly road rashed but victorious.

“Heh Sandeh!” North says around a mouthful of mystery meatloaf. Jack winces.

Sandy gives him a jovial wave and then turns to give Jack a Look, as though asking why he’d been left to fend for himself. Jack just fixes an innocent look on his face and shrugs as the short man plops his own tray of runny meatloaf down next to Jack’s sad chicken.

“Sorry, little man, I’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

“What can possibly be more important than you pilot, eh Mister Navigator?” North teases. He and Sandy exchange a smirk and Jack rolls his eyes.

The usually sunny smile drops from his face and he drops his fork to his plate with a clunk. “Look guys, what are we even doing here? We’ve been on high alert for days, but nothing’s happening.”

“Jack, I just got back from mission. You cannot tell me we’re sitting around here eating cookies all day. There’s reason we are on alert. Just because NATO’s negotiated peace between Bosnia and Serbia does not mean job is done,” North says firmly.

“I know, I know… It’s just… It sucks. They tell us to do recon, but all we’re doing is flying over a bunch of trees and snow. Nothing changes. I mean I didn’t sign up to be a baby sitter!”

North frowns at him. He looks ready to give Jack a lecture about preparedness, but something over Jack’s shoulder catches his eye and stops him short. Jack watches in confused amusement as North grabs a fistful of napkins and starts wiping at his face, trying to make it look as though he hasn’t just been scarfing down his food and making a mess on himself. He and Sandy exchange puzzled glances, and Jack only just opens his mouth to ask what the heck is going on when a tittering voice echoes through the mess and he realizes that it is Miss Tooth whom North sees.

Jack leans across the table and leers. North blushes and refuses to meet anyone’s eyes.

“-and this is the mess hall. Trust me, you don’t have to worry too much about remembering your way here –just follow the stampede at meal time and you’ll be fine,” Tooth gushes. She is talking to a tall man in uniform, someone Jack doesn’t recognize. Her eyes meet his and she positively beams. “Oh, hello Jack! Hello Sandy and North!”

“Hello Master Chief Tooth!” Jack greets cheerily, attitude taking a 180 as he favors the Asian beauty with a cheeky grin. “How are you this fine evening?”

Tooth laughs and puts her hands on her hips, trying for a scolding look but failing miserably. “What’s this Master Chief business? How many times do I have to tell you to just call me Tooth?”

“At least once more, Miss Swan,” Jack says, purposefully drawing out the posh accent. Beside him North mumbles something and Sandy silently cracks up.

“Don’t you shamelessly quote my favorite movie at me, Jack Frost,” Tooth scolds with a grin. “And in any case, I’m here on official business.

“Sir , these are Lieutenants Jack Frost and Sandy Mansnoozie of the United States Navy, and Lieutenant Commander Nick St. North of the Russian Federation. Gentlemen, meet Commodore Aster Bunnymund of the Royal Australian Navy.”

Commodore Bunnymund –Jack snorts at the name –is tall and lean, with short, spikey brown hair and gorgeous green eyes. Over all he is very striking and cuts quite the imposing figure, but in the moment he simply looks a strange combination of nervous and angry, overcompensating with stiffness and propriety. His shoulders and back are perfectly straight, and his brows furrow more with each passing second that the officers don’t stand and show him proper respect for his rank.

It is plain as day that the commodore is used to following protocol, perhaps even takes comfort in it, and expects others to follow it as well.

Jack snorts again and is treated with a severe frown and a glare that could have withered even the stoutest of plants.

“Nice to meet meetcha, Bunny,” he offers, grinning as the commodore bristles at the nickname. “Why dontcha sit down and stay a while!”

Tooth looks back and forth between the newcomer’s increasingly flushed visage and Jack’s growing smirk and grins, obviously pleased about something. “I’ll just leave you to it, then, sirs.”

Sandy also looks back and forth between Jack and the commodore and blows out a breath. He can see the way they are sizing each other up; there is a spark of interest in Jack’s baby blues that he hasn’t seen in a long time. He sighs and nudges North, jerking his head after Tooth’s retreating form; North all but scrambles up from the table, almost upending his tray in his haste to follow his ladylove. Sandy rolls his eyes and follows behind, whistling.

“Wait, Miss Tooth!” I thought maybe we could find Phil and cause some trouble. And later you can show me your tooth collection!”

“Oh yes,” Tooth giggles. “Remember the night we let all the chickens on board? We spent fifteen hours scrubbing the chicken shit off of the deck…”

“Don’t you mean _I_ spent fifteen hours scrubbing shit?” North mumbles as they turn the corner and walk out of sight.

Commodore Bunnymund looks absolutely appalled at the thought of any of them playing pranks, especially sweet Tooth, and Jack can’t help but laugh at the man’s bewildered expression. The commodore’s face softens a bit at the sunny sound, and he only hesitates a moment before sliding stiffly into the seat that North left behind.

For a few moments neither of them speak, content to just listen to the commotion of life going on around them while Jack finishes off the last of Nick’s abandoned dinner.

“Master Chief Toothiana has us all fooled, doesn’t she?”

Jack lets out a surprised burst of laughter and Bunnymund smiles hesitantly. “Well, maybe you. We know her too well by now to be fooled by her charming demeanor,” Jack replies, leaning back in his chair and licking his fork clean. “Everyone thinks _I’m_ the troublemaker, but it’s really all just an elaborate ruse. You should see what they’re capable of when they actually try.”

“I don’t think I want to,” Bunnymund murmurs, lips quirking up slightly when Jack snorts.

They lapse into silence again, and Aster visibly relaxes as the din of the mess dims from the dinner rush to the slow trickle of late eaters.

“So Bunny,” Jack says, drawing the NATO officer’s attention once more. “To what do we owe the pleasure of having you aboard?”

Aster glares at him “’m not a bunny, mate.”

“Ah, you’re right. Going off your accent I’d say you’re closer to a kangaroo than a bunny.”

Bunnymund growls under his breath about Jack’s flippant attitude toward superior officers and makes to stand up.

“No, wait!” Jack says, surprised. Aster gives him a look but remains sitting, much to Jacks’ relief. “Look, sorry. I think we started off on the wrong foot here. Or paw, whatever it is that kangaroo-bunnies have.” This time Bunnymund really does stand up. “Okay no haha sorry, I just… Oh _come on_ , get back here! I’m sorry!”

Aster tries valiantly to suppress the grin that threatens to brighten his face and rolls his eyes. Equal parts annoyed and amused, he sits back down, surprised by Jack’s sigh of relief and only slightly frustrated with his own willingness to cooperate. Jack might seem like a little shit who disregards the rules, but Aster realizes then that he is actually quite astute –it is in the way his baby blues gleam knowingly, the way he had picked up on Aster’s nervousness and tried to lighten the mood with humor.

“Let’s try this again. Hello, my name is Jack Frost and I’m a little shit.”

“Nice to meetcha,” Aster says, grinning. “’m Aster Bunnymund, and I’m a stubborn ass.”

Jack snorts and then laughs, and Aster finds that he really likes it –the way Jack’s nose scrunches and the corners of his eyes crinkle in mirth, the way his smile is just a tad bit crooked, the way the sound bubbles up from his throat like precious water from a fountain.

He frowns at himself. Oh, this…this is not good. Aster clears his throat when he notices Jack looking at him, concerned, but is saved from questioning when the creaky PA system crackles to life, announcing some kind of meeting at 1900. Once he manages to gain control of himself, Aster looks across the table to see Jack stealing a quick glance at the clock on the mess wall, frowning to himself.

“Time to go?”

“Sorry Bun-Bun, I gotta take off. Catch ya later?”

Aster finds he can’t quite say no to those beautiful blue eyes. Yeah, this is definitely not good. Not good at all. He only hopes Jack can’t read him as well as he thinks he can, or he might be in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been in the works for a long time, but I have a bad track record of finishing multichapter fics in a timely fashion unless I finish before I post. I'm almost finished with this one, but I figure I'm 25k words in and I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, so it's probably okay to start posting xD  
> Crossposted to my writing blog and FF.Net!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jack Frost, a disillusioned Lieutenant in the United States Navy, is shot down behind enemy lines, he begins to realize that his yearning for adventure might be his downfall. Luckily he’s got Tooth, North, Aster, and a whole boatload of people trying to get him home, and he might just make it…if the mysterious tracker doesn’t get to him first.
> 
> Or: The time Jack Frost literally charms the pants off of Commodore Bunnymund and then gives him a whole head of grey hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing this I had slightly different plans. Like for example, I hadn't planned on there being sex in the second chapter. But plans change >=D It's pretty abrupt but as we go along you'll realize why it had to be done here. I hope you don't mind!

Over the course of a few weeks the commodore watched as the normally stoic, cold aircraft carrier transformed into a winter wonderland, complete with Christmas trees in the mess, garish garlands wound around all the banisters, sprigs of mistletoe hanging from the doorways, and random splotches of what appear to be red and green tissue paper taped to the hallway walls. Aster thinks the whole thing is utterly ridiculous, but he can tell that seeing the decorations raises morale, and he reluctantly admits to himself that even though the execution is shoddy, and even though this is Christmas and not _Easter_ –his favorite holiday –the idea has merit.

Of course the admission may have something to do with a certain white haired lieutenant; under normal circumstances, Aster prides himself on strictness and the ability to get the job done, morale be damned, but lately Jack’s more laid-back attitude has rubbed off on him somewhat. Aster keeps bumping into the man more often than he expects on a ship that carries nearly six thousand men and women, which kicks his naturally suspicious mind into overdrive. Jack even insists on eating together as often as possible, almost like they are dates.

It certainly doesn’t help that Jack flirts with him every chance he gets –in the mess, on the flight deck, wherever they bump into each other. Most of the other crewmen ignore it, used to Jack’s flirtatious nature, but Aster finds himself drawn in my the sincerity in Jack’s eyes and the quirky grin on his lips. He’s made it perfectly clear he’s interested, but Aster hasn’t taken the bait yet.

Aster knew he was physically attracted to Jack as soon as he set eyes on him in the mess weeks ago (if his dreams are anything to go by), but with each accidental run-in, he is discovering more and more things to like about Jack Frost –he is sharp-tongued and intelligent, not afraid to knock Aster down a peg or two when he needs it (which is often), and he is witty and a fantastic conversationalist when he isn’t busy being a pain in Aster’s backside. He challenges Aster in many ways; perhaps that is why he feels so drawn to him. It drives him crazy in more ways than one, because on an aircraft carrier there is no means of escape.

Speaking of no escape, Aster thinks as he rounds a tissue paper strewn corner and discovers the man he’s been thinking about. Jack has evidentially been talking to someone on the telephone, because Aster’s caught him in the act of hanging up.

“Oh hey Bunny!”

“Commodore,” Aster automatically corrects, smiling despite himself as Jack jogs over to him.

“Whatever,” Jack dismisses. “So, you gonna miss me while I’m away, Aster?”

“How can I miss you when you won’t leave?” Aster scoffs. He frowns when Jack’s words catch up to him. “What do you mean, while you’re away?”

Jack grins and shrugs, playing it off as no big deal, but Aster can see something is bothering him. “Sandy and I are runnin’ a recon mission on Christmas Day. I think Admiral Pitchiner doesn’t like us or something, scheduling us out during the one good meal of the year.”

“Nah mate, it’s _you_ she doesn’t like,” Aster says, smirking. Jack fakes a pout and it looks so ridiculous on him that Aster has to laugh.

“Yes, Jack,” he chuckles, rolling his eyes. “I’ll miss you for all of the two or three hours that you’ll be gone.”

Without his noticing, Jack has shifted closer, and when Aster looks back up into Jack eyes he realizes that their chests are nearly touching. His breath catches in his throat.

“Good,” Jack murmurs, “’cause I’ll miss you.”

The mood has changed from playful to electric just like that, and Aster is helpless against it. He licks his lips and nearly groans –Jack’s eyes follow the movement of his tongue, and the way the younger man’s adams apple bobs as he swallows is enticing. It makes Aster just a bit breathless. “Jack…”

He actually does groan when Jack presses up and kisses him –he’s wanted to kiss that sinfully sarcastic mouth for weeks, and it feels so good, so _right_ to finally be doing it that he doesn’t even care that they are in the hallway where anyone can see them. He slides his hands around Jack’s waist and god Jack is so slim –with both of his thumbs resting on Jack’s hip bones, his fingers can just about meet at Jack’s spine.

Jack sighs and presses closer, dragging his hands up Aster’s chest to tangle in his hair and rest against his jaw. Raw desire flows through him, setting his nerves on fire as Jack nips at his mouth, asking for access.

Jack’s mouth is hot, and his tongue slick as it rubs against Aster’s. One of them moans –Aster isn’t sure who but at that point it would not have mattered anyway –and Aster slides a hand up to cradle the back of Jack’s head, trying to create an angle –

They both jerk back when their teeth clack painfully, and for a second Aster fears the mood has been totally ruined, but he looks down at Jack –at his glistening, kiss bruised lips and his beautiful smile and twinkling eyes –and can’t help but laugh.

“Sorry,” he says, grinning. Jack just grins wickedly back and shakes his head.

“Little eager, are we?” He teases.

“Might be. Been wanting to do that since the first time I saw you, mate.”

Jack wraps his arms around Aster’s neck and leans against him. “Mmm, that so?”

“I can show you just how eager I am, if you’d like,” Aster suggests, rolling his hips into Jack’s and praying that he hasn’t read the situation wrong. The younger man gasps and flushes, his eyes glazing over just slightly as he nods.

“Finally.”

They don’t quite make it to Aster’s room –they end up shutting themselves in a custodial closet while Aster tries to kiss him and Jack just laughs (Aster is quickly coming to terms with the fact that he loves the sound of Jack’s laughter).

They make out like teenagers, bumping noses and forgetting to breathe. Jack lacks the finesse of some of Aster’s previous lovers, but it is both refreshing and incredibly sexy, and Jack certainly makes up for any fumbles with his eagerness to please his partner.

Not that they have time for finesse –Jack breathlessly informs Aster that they have about fifteen minutes before he is due somewhere while Aster is busy unzipping Jack’s pants with his teeth.

“They why did you start something if you can’t finish it,” Aster grumbles, voice rough as he slides his hands up Jack’s thighs to pull at the waistband.

“Oh I can finish it all right. Just has to be fassst,” Jack hisses as Aster tugs, sliding his pants and boxers down to his knees and off in one go. Jack’s hiss turns into a sigh as Aster’s hand comes up to stroke teasingly at his cock. “Aren’t you a little overdressed for a closet quickie?”

“Might be,” Aster murmurs, standing up the grind his clothed hips against Jack’s. The younger man’s head falls back, eyes closed in pleasure as he reaches between them, fumbling with Aster’s fly as their hips rock. He manages to pull Aster’s cock free from the confines of his underwear and Aster groans as Jack wraps one of his cool hands around to stroke the both of them.

“How –how are we going to do this?” Jack asks, moaning as he thumbs at his slit.

“Hadn’t thought abou’ that,” Aster mutters. He can’t quite wrap his head around the fact that something he’s wanted for weeks is actually happening.

Jack snorts and shakes his head, and Aster almost whines as the loss of Jack’s fingers as he braces his hands behind him for leverage and hops up onto the workbench. Aster can feel his mouth go dry as Jack spreads his legs and gestures for him to come closer.

He steps into the cradle of Jack’s hips, hands coming up to rub a clumsy massage into his thighs. “Like this?”

“We don’t exactly have time for anything else,” Jack answers, breathless. He reaches down between them again, grasping them both. It isn’t ideal –Aster would rather have had the time to learn his lover’s body, the things he likes having done to him and all his secret spots, but it has been so long since someone else touched him that all of his concerns fly out the window when Jack begins to stroke in earnest.

Pleasure sparks along his nerves, everywhere their bodies touch, and breathy moans and sighs fill the air between them. It is probably a good thing this is going to be a quickie, because Aster doesn’t think he can last that long anyway, not with the sounds Jack is making and the way he twists his fist around their cocks.

“Nng, _god_ ,” Jack moans, his movements becoming jerkier. Aster leans in and kisses him as his hand reaches down to help them along. Someday he’d like to hear all the noises Jack can make during sex, but there is a time for everything, and everything in his time; so instead he kisses him long and hard and swallows Jack’s cry as he comes, seed spilling out over both of their hands.

Aster comes a few moments later, to the sound of Jack panting his release into his ear.

* * *

 

“Launch the alert, launch the alert,” the voice over the carrier’s PA system announces. It is strange to see the carrier’s flight deck, home to many a football game, transform into something more sinister. Aster can’t see them very well from the island, but he can imagine the normally friendly and open faces of the men and women of the flight crew being replaced with stony vigilance as they don their yellow and orange safety vests and race across the deck into position.

Jack and Sandy pop out from below decks, decked out in full flight gear, and make their way through the sea of flight personnel to clamber up the ladder and into the cockpit of their F/A-18 Super Hornet. Aster watches Jack vault himself into the aft seat and enthusiastically jam his headset on; in front of him Sandy is doing the same thing.

He can’t help tracking Jack’s movements; he convinces himself that it’s because Jack is so insanely talented at what he does and that it has nothing to do with his attraction to him. He had confided in Aster a while back that he’d joined the military because he wanted to help people and give them the means to protect themselves and their families like he would his own. The confusion with the Bosnian conflict may have disillusioned him a bit, but he easily sheds his prankster personality to become a serious flight officer whenever his feet touch the flight deck. He’d discovered that Jack is a great pilot, but his innate sense of direction and ability to quickly process information are what make him a fantastic navigator.

Behind him Admiral Pitchiner clears her throat and Aster nearly jumps in shock; he had been so lost in his musings that he’d forgotten what he was supposed to be doing –not exactly an auspicious start to his career with NATO. Glancing down at the flight deck, he notices that the crew has got the plane turned and headed in the proper direction, and the towbar and holdback are clanking down the deck. He watches with a closer eye as the jet blast deflector raises behind the Super Hornet, and the catapult officer begins pumping the steam into the catapult cylinders. At a signal from the catapult officer, Sandy blasts the engines and creates enough thrust, combined with the release of the catapult, to launch the plane off the deck.

Aster allows his eyes to trail after the Super Hornet until the plane is out of sight, a strange feeling settling into the pit of his stomach.

“This is essentially your mission, Bunnymund,” Pitchiner says, voice hard and unyielding. “Your responsibility.”

“…Ma’am.”

* * *

 

“Nothing like going from zero to 165 in two seconds!” Jack shouts into his headset, grinning. There is nothing he loves more than flying, even if it is for some crap recon mission.

Flying is incidentally the only time he ever hears his pilot speak. Sandy had been born with weak vocal chord muscles, a condition called paresis, and for the first several years of his life didn’t speak at all. He’d gone through therapy and was able to overcome his disability, but speaking for long periods of time is often painful for him. At least, that’s the story he’d told Jack right after they’d partnered up.

Sometimes Jack feels smug, being one of the few to actually hold a vocal conversation with his pilot, but mostly he just feels sad. Sandy is witty and smart as a whip and it is too bad that he is so often silenced or dismissed by others just because he doesn’t always have a voice.

“I like flying, but it’s too bad that it has to happen on Christmas. You know this is 100% your fault, Jack.”

“Just shut up and fly the damn plane,” Jack grouses, siting back in his seat and crossing his arms in an exaggerated pout.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sandy rasps, laughing. Jack rolls his eyes and glances at the route blinking in red on his dash. Minutes pass as they sit in silence, both focusing their attentions on the water passing like dirty glass beneath them.

These kinds of missions always pass in the same manner –fly the highlighted path, take a few pictures with the new on-board IDEM digital camera, and fly back. Jack is pretty sure it is just to keep the pilot/navigator duos busy, to keep them from getting restless, and most of them are pretty all right with that. He didn’t sign up to baby sit, he’d signed up to do good somewhere –something he’d complained about to Aster. He wants to serve his country and help people, and he feels like he isn’t doing either of those things.

He watches the water change to craggy land, and then trees.

And then, out of nowhere, Sandy sighs and says, “I heard a rumor that you’re going to turn your resignation letter in.”

“…It’s not a rumor.”

“So you’re telling me that I’ll have to find a new navigator?” Jack can tell that Sandy is upset at the news. He’d meant to talk to him personally about the letter and the fact that he is planning to resign after the Carl Vinson docks in a few days’ time, but he’d been rather distracted by a pair of striking green eyes.

“The plan was to resign when we dock next.”

“…Wait. _Was_? Past tense?”

“Yeah, that is what past tense is. So glad you learned _something_ in school,” Jack teases, earning an amused huff from the front seat.

“Cut the crap, you little shit!” Sandy says, getting a laugh from his partner. “Come on, I want to know!”

“All right, all right! I just…might’ve found a reason to stay, that’s all.”

“Not going to tell me what that might be?”

“Three degrees to the right and stay on that heading. And nope. That’s all you need to know, little man.”

“Aw come on Jack, I thought we were friends,” Sandy whines. “Higher pay?”

“Nope.”

“Promotion?”

“Nada.”

“Relocation? Which, if that’s the case, I may have to kill you for not resigning and _still_ leaving me behind.”

“Huh-uh.”

“Hm… Oh, would it happen to have something to do with the new guy? You’ve been acting awfully _friendly_ with the commodore lately,” Sandy says slyly.

“…”

“I knew it! I bet you’re blushing right now, Frost! Oh _Aster_!” Sandy says, voice going high and feminine. “You’re such a strong, handsome man!” The pilot throws his own arms around himself and makes noises like he is making out with someone.

“You’re a lying liar _you shut your lying mouth right now_ or I will pee on all the things you love, do you understand me?” Jack can hear Sandy laughing his ass off in the front seat and feels his face heat up even more. “You’re such a dick, you know that?”

“Hey,” Sandy’s voice suddenly turns serious. “Do you see that smoke over there, 9 o’clock?”

“Yeah.” It’s coming from section Four Alpha. Supposed to be a demilitarized zone. What do you think it is?”

“Huh. Not sure.”

“…Want to go investigate?”

“Jack, you know that’s not on the flight path. Pitchiner would have a coronary.”

“…”

“Okay, let’s do it.”

“Puttin’ our tax dollars to work!”

Sandy urges the plane low and fast to the left, its belly almost brushing the snow-laden treetops. The golden haired man holds the course steady while Jack reaches down along his seat and flips the switch for the IDEM camera.

When Sandy makes a questioning noise, he says, “Hey, I want photographic evidence of there being something suspicious for when Pitchiner reams our asses.”

“You mean Bunnymund? Pitchiner put him in charge of this mission.”

Jack blinks, surprised. He hadn’t known that. If he had, he wouldn’t have suggested going off course, because not only is their deviation on them, but it’s also on their CO –and while Pitchiner can handle herself with all her years of experience, Jack is sure Aster will get some major flak.

But it is too late to go back. The path on his dash says they are already off track, and not in a subtle, ‘oops I wasn’t paying attention’ kind of way –no, they are heading in pretty much the opposite direction of where they are meant to be going.

“Shit. Bunny’s gonna kill me,” he groans.

“Better hope something comes out of this,” Sandy rasps. The blond lowers the altitude so that the plane skims the trees, and Jack is about to chastise him for showing off when suddenly there is nothing under them.

They have reached a clearing. Jack’s eyes widen in shock –this is the origin of the smoke, which had been suspicious enough in a demilitarized zone, but there are also tanks, and anti-aircraft artillery, and…people. Lots of people. People in camo.

“Shit!” Jack hisses. “We are so dead!”

He can hear Sandy’s hoarse cursing through the headset and he feels the g-force pulling at his body as the pilot pulled up out of the treetops. “Think they saw us?”

* * *

Information on [paresis](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vocal_cord_paresis), [F/A-18s](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boeing_F/A-18E/F_Super_Hornet) (even though technically they weren't around for the Bosnian conflict...like I said, misuse of history), and [launches](http://science.howstuffworks.com/aircraft-carrier3.htm)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, I'm referring to Mother Nature as Sera Pitchiner.
> 
> Crossposted to my writing blog and FF.Net.  
> See you next Thursday!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jack Frost, a disillusioned Lieutenant in the United States Navy, is shot down behind enemy lines, he begins to realize that his yearning for adventure might be his downfall. Luckily he’s got Tooth, North, Aster, and a whole boatload of people trying to get him home, and he might just make it…if the mysterious tracker doesn’t get to him first.
> 
> Or: The time Jack Frost literally charms the pants off of Commodore Bunnymund and then gives him a whole head of grey hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, you're all going to hate me.

Emil Kasun, better known as General Winter, takes a drag from his cigar and leans back into his chair, eyes trained on the Serbian president who is droning on about the military presence in Serbia and how he intends to comply with NATO’s requests to stop the violence.

Behind him, his second in command frowns and gestures angrily at the television. “Disgusting man. Is he so cowardly that he has to bow down to the might of the American and NATO forces that occupy our country? Tch.”

Winter chuckles and the smoke unfurls from his nose and mouth. “He is a politician, Jasna –ah, excuse me, Snow Queen,” he corrects. “It is his job to look like he is obeying NATO’s commands while it is ours to make sure the _real_ job is finished.”

Jasna Zupan, the Snow Queen as she is called, opens her mouth to reply but is cut off when the door bursts open, revealing a Serbian soldier panting in the doorframe.

“Yes?” Winter asks lazily, taking another puff from his cigar. Behind him, Snow Queen has pulled out her sidearm, obviously startled by the sudden intrusion.

“Sir! NATO jet flying over Hač!”

“No, you must be mistaken.”

“No, General. It was definitely a reconnaissance flight, but it was not on the published NATO reports.”

“No one’s supposed to be in that area,” Snow Queen grouses as Winter stands and rips the cell phone from the chest pocket of the soldier’s uniform and dials a number. He shoves the soldier aside and starts down the hallway, pushing past anyone who gets in his way.

Someone picks up almost immediately on the other end.

“Pitch. NATO jet over Hač. Take care of it.”

“Sir,” Pitch confirms. The dial tone rings in his ear and he flips his phone shut as the NATO bird in question flies over their encampment. With just a signal of his hand, the surface-to-air missiles are prepped and launched. He pulls a scope out of his pocket and tracks the missiles, wanting to see for himself as his hard work and loyalty pays off as he waits for Winter to show.

* * *

 

“Think they saw us?”

As soon as the question leaves Sandy’s mouth, the master control warning goes off and some missile shaped blips labeled ‘SAM’ pop up on Jack’s navigation screen.

“Fucking _shit_ , we’re being painted!”

“What –damn!” Sandy cries as the SAM warning goes off. “Not just painted, Jack!”

“North Pole, this is Dream Sand. We are under attack. I repeat, we are under attack. We’ve got a SAM on our tail –ah, make that two,” Jack says, cringing when the SAM warning goes off again, filling the cockpit with discordant beeping. ”Do you read?”

“We read,” an upbeat feminine voice says into his ear. Jack can hear Toothiana telling someone to find Aster before the connection crackles out.

“Where are they where are they?” Sandy mutters into the headset. “Do you see them?”

“No joy, no joy.”

“I’m pullin’ up.” Sandy noses the plane up and opens the throttle, sending the duo speeding into the open sky, almost perpendicular to the ground. The g-force pulls at Jack’s body and he grits his teeth, head twisted to try and spot the missiles. They manifest themselves in the form of two dark shapes, coming at them fast from the right rear of the plane. A glance down at his dash tells him he’s seeing things accurately.

“I see them! Coming in fast at four and five! Turn left, turn left!”

Jack’s body strains against the safety harness as Sandy throws the left wing of the plane down toward the earth in a sharp turn, trying desperately to shake the missiles, or at least gain some distance. The SAMs fly past them, slower to turn, and they are both finally able to get an eye on them. There is Serbian Cyrillic painted on the sides.

No matter what kinds of maneuvers they try, the missiles stay right on their tail. The only thing Jack can think to do is drop the fuel and pray they had enough to get back. He relays his thoughts to his pilot and holds his breath as Sandy flips the switches.

The air below them erupts into molten orange –at least one of the dropped tanks has exploded.

“We’ve got a fireball!”

Sandy yanks on the controls and the plane jerks up into another steep climb, trying to steer clear of the inferno growing below them. Jack watches as one of the SAMs, attracted to the heat source, explodes in the midst of the cloud of flames.

“One down!” Jack shouts, grinning savagely as they clear the top of the fireball and begin their descent. He glances down at his dash and notices that the other has passed through and is once again on their tail. “Second’s on our six, go for a head-on pass. Maybe we can confuse it.”

Sandy grins and boomerangs the plane around. “Let’s play chicken!” He cackles.

Jack rolls his eyes but smiles. “You got it, little man.”

Sandy is quiet as he tracks the missile and calculates the distance, and then he gently tilts the left wing down very slightly –just enough for them to pass by the missile and hopefully leave it heading for the still-raging inferno behind them.

SAMs don’t last all that long once they are in the air, so time _had_ to be running out for this one. If they could just out-fly it for a few more minutes –

The world explodes into confusion as flames and fiery heat engulfs them and the plane rips apart.

Jack can faintly hear Sandy screaming “we’ve been hit!” into his headset, but nothing else registers except the ringing in his ears and the heat searing into his skin. They are free-falling now, the plane nothing but shards of metal and fiberglass. He feels dazed, almost like he is intoxicated. A pair of green eyes flashes before him before he finally realizes that Sandy has been trying to get his attention.

“Jack, open your eyes!”

He did.

“Come on, we have to eject!”

Sandy reaches back to help him find his ripcord and Jack yanks it, and suddenly he is alone in the wide, blue sky with nothing but the seat he is strapped to. Below him he can see the wreckage of the plane, falling further and further toward the ground. Sandy is still in it.

“SANDY!” He screams so loud he almost swears his throat tears open. A few seconds of silence, of stillness, and then finally he can see Sandy’s chair, floating ethereally out of the flaming wreckage. A wave of relief rolls through him, and he lets himself free-fall a few more seconds before he opens his parachute. The earth is coming up on them fast.

He opens his chute a tad bit too late; while Sandy managed to glide into a clearing on the hillside, Jack is heading hard and fast toward a thicket of trees just to the north of a frozen lake. The impact is painful, but he hardly registers it. All he knows is that he has to unclip himself as fast as possible to get to Sandy. Being shot down behind enemy lines with your partner is bad enough; being shot down behind enemy lines and losing your only trusted contact is ten times _worse_.

He lands very ungracefully on his back, moaning brokenly as rocks and tree roots dig into his body. He can hear Sandy calling for him, so after a moment of lying miserably on the ground, he gets up (stiffly, slowly) and tries to follow the sound of his pilot’s raspy voice through the trees.

Hadn’t he been complaining just recently about not seeing any action? He’d been so naïve.

“Sandy, I’m coming!”

The white haired man picks his way through the trees and emerges into the clearing he’d seen Sandy drop into. And there he is, lying on the ground amidst the grass and snow.

“About time you showed up, I’m not getting any younger here!”

A rush of air leaves Jack’s lips and he can’t help but chuckle in relief. Sandy is there, perhaps a bit injured if the way he clutches his leg is any indication, but he is there.

“Yeah, yeah. Now shut up so I can dress your wound,” Jack says as he approached. He kneels down next to the shorter man, fingers absently checking the makeshift bandage the other man had evidentially torn from his shirt. “Have you tried radioing for help?”

Sandy hisses between his teeth at Jack’s probing fingers and murmurs out an affirmative. “But there’s no signal. You’ll have to go higher,” he says, nodding further up the hill. “Any idea where we are, Mister Navigator?”

Jack brushes his hands against his thighs and stands. “Not too far from Srebrenica, I think. A few miles north of Hač. Think they saw us eject?”

“No clue. Now get your pasty butt up there and radio your loverboy.”

“Oh har har. You’ll be okay for a bit?”

Sandy gives him a deadpan look and gestures to his bloody leg, as though saying ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

Jack looks skyward, jokingly begging the gods for help in dealing with the sassy asshole sitting before him, and looks back down just in time to dodge Sandy’s canteen as it comes flying toward his head.

“Fine, fine! I’m going, geez!”

He is going to leave the canteen lying on the ground, but something stops him, makes him lean over and pick it up. He shrugs it off and begins his trek up the hill, checking for a radio signal every so often. Eventually he finds himself standing halfway up the mountain. He grumbles unhappily and mutters something unsavory under his breath, and with one glance back toward the prone pilot he slips in between the boughs.

“North Pole, this is 05. Do you read?”

The radio crackles in response. He is about to try again, thumb hovering over the talk button, when another sound creeps through his senses.

“No…” He murmurs, confusion giving way to shock and dread as the first tank rolls into the clearing. More follow –tanks, Humvees, pickup trucks, men in uniform –all armed and deadly and coming closer to the prone figure lying alone on the grassy ground. Jack isn’t sure what to do; judging from the way the uniformed soldiers are acting, they must not have realized that a second person had ejected.

He hunkers down among the brush and watches.

* * *

 

The mess hall is noisy, packed with thousands of sailors and marines happily eating their fill of Christmas turkey. Aster is enjoy himself as well; instead of sitting at the officer’s table with the staunch Admiral Pitchiner, he’d chosen to sit with North, with whom he has developed a close friendship over the last few weeks.

“North…what can you tell me about Jack?”

“Why? Interested?”

Aster frowns. “No…well, yes. Shut up,” he grouses. The big man just laughs and puts a hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

“I’m just giving you hard time, friend! No need to be upset. And I will say that I am pretty sure he likes you, too.”

Asters eyebrows shoot up into his hairline and he opens his mouth to ask what North meant by that, but both men are distracted when Tooth bursts into the mess. Most people ignore her as she strides to the officer’s table, but Aster feels dread swoop low in his stomach at the resigned look on her face. She walks right up to Pitchiner and mutters something into her ear –whatever it is, it’s serious enough to stop Pitchiner mid-bite.

“Shit,” Aster murmurs. He and Nick watch Pitchiner push her plate away, mutter something back, and point straight at him. Tooth frowns and makes her way over as Pitchiner leaves the mess.

“What is it?”

“F/A-18 down, feet dry. Pitchiner wants you in the bridge as soon as you can be there.”

“Bloody hell,” Aster breathes. He and the Russian share a glance and it is obvious they are both thinking the same thing.

Jack.

* * *

 

Sandy doesn’t move an inch as the Serbs approach him. The situation is tenuous at best. Even though the Serbians are supposed to be cooperative, they _had_ just flown off their route and into a demilitarized zone…and just the same, they had been shot down by a group of uniformed soldiers who, just like them, aren’t supposed to be there. He has no idea where Jack has gone or if he’s realized what is going on, but he isn’t about to alert the Serbs to the fact that there is another NATO pilot running around on the hillside.

One of the men saunters right up to him and nudges his injured leg with his toe. Sandy grits his teeth to the pain and tries to school his features. Another man pulls his sidearm out of its holster while he is distracted. The man says something to the group and they all laugh.

Then something in the crowd changes and the men start to move aside, allowing three others to make their way forward. One of the men –obviously of higher rank, possibly even in charge –kneels in front of him while the other two stand aside, guns raised and pointed threateningly in his direction.

“So,” he says as an amused smirk spreads over his lips. “Why you flying? Reconnaissance mission, yes? Not bombing mission?”

The little man doesn’t respond. Instead, he reaches slowly into his breast pocket and pulls out something that all soldiers carry with them –it is a card, in several different languages, stating that the soldier in question will not give away any information no matter what they are threatened with or with whom they are talking until it is proven that they are friendlies. The man reads it and hands it off to one of the others. Sandy gets the impression that he is just being played with and has to fight to keep the expression of anger and fear off of his face.

“You alone?” The leader tries again. Sandy smothers the instinct to look toward where Jack had disappeared, to make sure his navigator won’t be spotted.

“…Yes.”

The man stares at him a little longer and then nods, apparently satisfied with whatever it was he’d seen in Sandy’s expression. He stands and murmurs something to one of the men he’d arrived with –a man wearing what looks like a black bath robe of all things –and stands back to watch as Mister Black Robes pulls out a sidearm from the waistband of his track pants (seriously?) and pistol whips him.

Sandy’s eyes are open but he can see nothing but sparks of white. He is dazed; there is blood trickling down the side of his face that hadn’t been there before. He can do nothing to defend himself as Mister Black Robes picks him up by his arms and forces him to stand. His injured leg wants to buckle, but he stands as tall and proud as he can, ready to accept whatever it is Mister Black Robes is going to deal to him.

Black Robes checks his sidearm and casually trains it right between his eyes and pulls the trigger.

Sandy’s body falls to the ground in a heap and the man with the cigar, General Winter, turns to Pitch and nods.

“There’s another one. Find him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter notes:  
> 1\. Emil Kasun -Serbian, first meaning rival, and second meaning to order, command, someone who commands authority and whose words should be heeded.  
> 2\. Jasna Zupan -Serbian, first meaning clear, sharp, and second meaning community leader.  
> 3\. Pitch is not related to Sera Pitchiner in this fic.  
> 4\. SAM- Surface to Air Missile  
> 5\. "F/A-18 down, feet dry" refers to the plane going down over land. If Tooth had said "feet wet" then she would have been saying the plane had gone down over water.
> 
> Important note for next week: BEL will not be updated on Thursday because I'm going out of state to visit a friend. I will try to have it up before I leave, but I can't make any promises. Please don't kill me ;A;
> 
> Crossposted to my writing blog and my FF.Net account!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jack Frost, a disillusioned Lieutenant in the United States Navy, is shot down behind enemy lines, he begins to realize that his yearning for adventure might be his downfall. Luckily he’s got Tooth, North, Aster, and a whole boatload of people trying to get him home, and he might just make it…if the mysterious tracker doesn’t get to him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of things happened this week. I was supposed to go on a trip but that got canceled due to the weather and the fact that I somehow got a type of ecoli and had to go on some pretty strong medication for it (\^_^/)
> 
> Sorry that you all had to wait to see whether or not Sandy is really dead huehuehue

“Shit! God _damn_ it!” Jack mutters to himself, fingers pulling at his hair as he watches his pilot’s body being dragged away by the Serbs. This is definitely not supposed to happen. The Serbs and Croats are supposed to be _cooperating_ with NATO’s peace agreement, not killing American soldiers. Oh Christ, Sandy is _dead_.

He needs to get help. And to do that, he needs to get to higher ground.

He can feel his training kick in, taking over for his shocked mind, and he begins to slowly creep backwards up the hill, reluctant to turn his back on his enemies. It is an arduous process –twigs and rocks and tree roots litter the ground, so easy to step on or trip over. He is so very glad he’d done so well for himself in stealth training, but one thing bothers him as he carefully sets one foot behind the other –why are the Serbs still there? There is no way Sandy blabbed that there is still someone out there.

Unless –

a twig snaps under his foot

-they saw him eject.

Okay, so maybe he hadn’t done as well as he remembered in his stealth training.

Every Serbian head still remaining in that clearing shoots up, every eye trains on him. In that instant, Jack feels like a deer in the middle of season –they had caught sight of him and would soon begin to _hunt_. It doesn’t take long for his shocked brain to figure out that he needs to run –he turns and flees as fast as he can.

He knows right away that the trees are both his savior and his enemy. On the one hand, the trees provide cover for him. He can easily create angles between him and his pursuers by weaving through the trees, and the brush that covers the hillside hides his tracks for him. But on the other, the risk of him falling over tree roots, slipping on some loose shale, or injuring himself on the whipping tree branches that catch on his clothes is high. There is no way to be stealthy when every step echoes across the mountain. But what he is most worried about is the fact that the Serbs know the hills and mountains well. For all he knows, they could be herding him right into a trap.

He does manage to carry one advantage over all the others, though, and that is the fact that he is alone. The Serbs following him have the burden of tanks, trucks, and people –most of which cannot easily follow him through the trees. And they would be foolish to leave the equipment behind with no one to watch over it, seeing as they are surrounded by not one, but two enemies in Bosnia.

He runs for what feels like hours before he feels comfortable enough to slow. His chest and legs burn and his lungs ache from the cold winter air he’s been breathing in and all he really wants to do is drop. But he forces himself to keep going, keep plodding along at a steady pace. Just because he can no longer hear or see his pursuers doesn’t mean he is safe, and he really needs to get into contact with someone as soon as possible.

* * *

 

“Dream Sand, this is North Pole. Do you copy?”

The bridge is a hive of activity when Aster walks in. It appears that the crew has been attempting to contact the downed pilot and navigator for several minutes already –three people are stationed at the radio while several more are closely watching the radars and satellites in hopes that something will come through.

“Has someone contacted Admiral Lunar?” Pitchiner demands.

“He’s been contacted and he’s on his way. NATO bird,” Tooth replies.

“Good. Now why the _hell_ haven’t we gotten in contact with Frost or Mansnoozie yet?!”

Aster clears his throat and steps further into the crowded room. “I believe I can answer that question, ma’am.” He waits for Pitchiner’s affirmation to continue, and then says, “Ma’am, it’s been known that when a homing beacon on the seats is activated, it can interfere with the radio signals, causing difficulty in making contact.”

“Then deactivate them.”

“Ma’am, once they are remotely deactivated, the only way to get them activated again is to do it manually in person,” Aster cautions.

“If there’s trouble for them out there, then they probably won’t stick around in one place long enough for us to find them. It’s better to get in contact than to go by the beacon,” Pitchiner explains, eyes soft despite her gruff exterior. Aster sighs but nods, knowing she is right and that the admiral cares about Jack and Sandy more than she often lets on. “Now tell me about the flight path.”

Phil, one of the intelligence officers, brings the flight path up on the screen and shows Pitchiner the original flight path, and then the path the aviators had taken instead. Pitchiner curses and Aster can’t blame her; Lunar will not be so willing to help them bring the crew home if he knows that they had deviated from the path and jeopardized the peace process he is so obsessed with.

The men continue to work on reaching the downed crew while the beacons are being disarmed, and finally there is a noise –a garbled static noise that hadn’t been there earlier.

“Dream Sand, this is North Pole. Do you copy?” Tooth asks, warning everyone with a glance that now is not the time to celebrate –the person on the other end may or may not be friendly, and they won’t be sure until they hear it for themselves. The men sober up and some even hold their breath as the static permeates the room.

“Dream Sand? This is North Pole. Do you copy?”

There is nothing but white noise, and it is obvious to the Aussie that though the men are determined to continue until told otherwise, they are starting to lose hope. And then finally the static is interrupted by something unidentifiable, and Tooth is about to try again when someone answers her calls.

“Copy, North Pole. This is 05 reporting from Dream Sand. Boy is it good to hear a friendly voice.”

It feels sort of like the tension in the room has been halved at the sound of Jack’s voice as everyone heaves a collective sigh of relief. Even Pitchiner has to hang her head as the anxiety and tension sweeps out of her; Aster is glad he is standing between Tooth and North, because it feels like his legs might give out, so strong was the relief that washed through him at hearing Jack’s voice.

Tooth grins and hands him the radio. He is about to pass it off to Pitchiner, but the woman shakes her head.

“I put you in charge of this, remember? You talk to him. I need to ready the men for Admiral Lunar’s arrival.” With that, Pitchiner and nearly all of the men in the bridge make their way out and down to the flight deck. “Oh, and one more thing, Bunnymund. No names over the net.”

The only people left are him, Tooth, Phil, and North, and he knows all of the are quite concerned with the safety and wellbeing of the downed crew, so he quickly raises the radio to his lips and hits the talk button.

“05, it’s good to hear you too. Really good. This is, ah –“ He breaks off and sends a pleading look to both Phil and Toothiana, who just shrug. North laughs and suggests Peter Rabbit, and Aster smacks him. “-this is Easter Bunny. Tell me, what is your count?”

“One. Count is one. Sand –ah, 04 was…was shot. Between the eyes, execution style.”

Tooth gasps and North stops chuckling. Aster let several seconds tick away before he clears his throat and raises the radio back up to his mouth.

“Say again, 05.”

“Count is one, Easter Bunny, _confirmed_.”

Aster lets out a shaky breath, shocked; they all are. The mission was just supposed to be a routine mission, something to get their pilots more hours in the sky, and it had been on the back of everyone’s minds in the wake of the holiday and the impending peace agreement. But this is anything but routine –this is turning into a nightmare.

“Copy, I…I understand. What is your status, then?”

“I’m okay for now. No major injuries to report. I left some of my gear at the crash site and I can’t go back to get it now. Was a little rattled when I ejected at mach 3.”

“Good to know,” Aster replies with a sigh. He runs a hand across his face, trying to dispel the nausea he feels coiling up his throat. It is his first experience as a commanding officer and suddenly there is so much at stake. It is more than just the fact that there is a downed pilot behind enemy lines, but it is _Jack_. And Jack is _alone_.

Phil mumbles something and North sighs. “Sir, if I may speak freely?” Aster just waves a hand at him to continue. “Pull yourself together. Jack is depending on you –on all of us –to help guide him out of this. He needs you to remember that he’s a trained soldier, and he needs you to be focused.”

“Right,” Aster murmurs, a light flush coloring his cheeks at having been caught nearly having a panic attack. He brings the radio back up to his mouth. “Okay 05, tell me what you saw. And remember, no names over the net.”

Jack sighs into the radio. “I’m…We saw something suspicious in the demilitarized zone, so we flew over and took some recon pictures, and the next thing I know we’re being painted by SAMs. We got the drop on one of ‘em, but the other clipped us and we went down. Sa -04 and I ejected and landed on a hill not far from…well. I thought we would be okay for a while, so I left him to get to higher ground so the radio would work. I shouldn’t have left him –“ Jack cuts himself off, breath hitching quietly.

Aster’s heart breaks at the sound, and he can’t bring himself to look at the others. They all know Jack is blaming himself for the situation.

“I heard noises,” the white haired man continues a moment later, quieter, more subdued. “I weighed my options and decided that showing myself would be detrimental, so I hid in the brush and watched. They must’ve talked to him, but I didn’t hear what they said. He didn’t say a word. And they –they –“

“They? Who is ‘they’?”

“Serbs. Serbs in camo tracked us down and shot my pilot!”

“You’re saying a uniformed soldier shot you down and killed your pilot?” Aster asks, voice deliberate and low. They have to be sure, absolutely _sure_ , because the answer Jack gives could upend the entire peace process that NATO has spent months striving for.

“Yes.”

Beside him North lets out a breath of surprise. The situation just got more complicated, and Aster can tell the other men in the bridge with him are starting to realize it, too.

The sound of footsteps reaches them just a few moments before the door bursts open and Admirals Pitchiner and Lunar and their men stride in. Pitchiner gives him a look and Aster frowns. Something isn’t right.

“Wait one,” he tells Jack before handing the radio off to North and Tooth. He has to give Lunar all of his attention –Admiral Lunar is the man in charge of all operations in the Adriatic Sea, so Jack’s fate rests on his sturdy shoulders.

“Sir.”

“Commodore Bunnymund, Admiral Pitchiner tells me you have been able to get in contact with your downed crew.”

“Yes, sir, what is left of it. Frost tells me that their plane was shot down by Serbs in camo –“

“Is your aviator and expert on Bosnia?”

“…Sir?”

“I find it very difficult to distinguish Croats, Bosniaks, and Serbs based solely on their uniforms, and I have been stationed here for five years. I highly doubt your man has the training or the knowledge to come to that conclusion.”

Aster stares at him, speechless, but Lunar isn’t finished yet.

“How did your pilot get shot down?”

“He was on a recon mission –“

“And he deviated from the flight path, correct?”

“…Yes sir.”

“Do you have any idea what this could do to the peace process?”

“Now wait just a minute, Lunar,” Pitchiner cuts in, frowning and obviously frustrated. “I understand that the peace process is important, but what are we going to tell their families? That we couldn’t –no, _wouldn’t_ –at least _attempt_ to rescue their sons because we were too afraid of endangering the peace process? If the peace you’ve set up is so very _tenuous_ –“

“That, _Rear_ Admiral Pitchiner, is exactly what we will tell them. NATO _cannot_ jeopardize what we have come so far to achieve. Your pilot will do what he is trained to do and hump it out to safe zone.”

“Sir, the pilot –“

“The peace process will not be threatened, do I make myself clear? The Serbs, Bosniaks, and Croats know that NATO is close to pulling out and they will not risk that for themselves by harming an American. I am sure of it.”

Lunar makes to leave, but pauses in front of Pitchiner to impart one last thing. “If you have already scheduled a search for your downed boy, call it off, or I will call it off for you.” And then he’s gone, leaving behind a room full of silence and frustration.

Pitchiner’s glare after Lunar is so intensely angry that for a moment Aster fears that Lunar will look back and see it and they will all end up regretting it, but then it is gone, replaced with disappointment and determination.

“You heard him. We cannot organize a rescue for the time being. Bunnymund, tell Frost to meet at the rendezvous point Hotel Alpha Charlie Niner. I will be in my office, trying to figure this mess out.”

No one moves or says anything for a few minutes after Pitchiner and her men leave the bridge. Everyone seems so subdued; none of them can believe what has just transpired. Did Lunar really refuse to search for and rescue a downed pilot?

Aster sighs and quietly asks Tooth for the radio again.

“05?”

“Still here, waiting for your directive.”

“…Right. I’m so sorry, Ja -05, but your current location is undoable for pickup. We will have to ask you to get to RP Hotel Alpha Charlie Niner as quickly as you can.”

“Wait, what? Ast –damnit Easter Bunny, that’s too far away. Why is this spot undoable?” Jack demands, an edge of hysteria and panic creeping into his voice.

“Jack!”

Everyone in the bridge winces. Aster screws his face up in frustration at himself, angry that he’d just done something so potentially damning as letting Jack’s name slip over the net. It is all well and good to talk about RPs and hotels and whiskys over the net because ideally no one but the US military and NATO has any idea where those locations are, but anyone could have heard Jack’s name understood what it is. He shudders to think he might be responsible for revealing the information that can bring Jack down.

“05,” Aster tries again, carefully. “I’m so sorry that you have been shot down. But we cannot pick you up at your current location. You need to utilize your training, create some more angles, and grow a pair. I was under the impression that US soldiers are well-trained, well-oiled machines. Now is the time to prove it.”

“…Sorry, Easter Bunny. You’re right.”

“Strewth,” he says airily, enjoying the chuckle he receives from the American. A gesture from Tooth catches his attention and he reluctantly hands the device over to her.

* * *

 

“Ja -05, are you okay?”

Jack has to smile at that voice. Tooth is like an older sister to him and it feels great to hear her familiar voice over the net. He hates how worried she sounds, though.

“Geez Tooth, you sound like I’ve been shot down behind enemy lines or something!” He teases, trying to lighten the mood. It apparently doesn’t work very well, because a stern silence comes from the other side of the two-way.

“Okay, okay, too soon,” he backtracks. “But seriously I’m okay. Couple of cuts and bruises but honestly there’s nothing for you to get your panties in a wad over.”

“That’s a relief. You should probably get some rest while you can, Ja –ah, 05.”

“I’m being tracked, remember? The bulk of the uniforms have stopped to regroup somewhere or something, but some guy in a black robe’s been following me through the trees ever since I started running. S’got a sniper rifle on him, so I have to keep going, put some distance between us. And I’m pretty sure he’s got the military on speed dial because when he arrived at the clearing it looked like he came with the bigwig or something.”

When nothing is forthcoming from the radio, Jack is afraid he’s lost the connection –a very precious commodity in his situation –but then he realizes that his friends are just fighting over the radio and he has to allow himself a laugh.

“Fighting over me, guys? I’m flattered, but seriously no,” he says, laugh tapering off into a hopeful smile.

“Shut it, ya show pony,” Aster murmurs and Jack grins. “Right now rest is important. You cannot expect to evade and survive if you’re so tired you can’t stand. And trust me, once the adrenaline wears off you will regret not taking a few hours to rest.”

“Mm. I’m still kinda wired though. Tell me a bedtime story?”

“No.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he whines, grinning when he hears someone snort over the airwaves.

“Fine. Once upon a time there was a stubbornly annoying little boy with white hair and bright blue eyes and he told his parents ‘one day, I wanna go into the navy!’ and he did and his parents were very proud.”

“Don’t forget the part where he met a cute, angry Aussie,” Jack points out.

The radio rasps a few times, as though it is expressing Aster’s outrage at being called cute, and then North kindly informs him that Aster looks about ready to explode form either anger or embarrassment, the Russian isn’t quite sure.

“You better get some rest now before he comes to kill you himself,” the big man laughs. “Oh, he says to radio in tomorrow when you can. He’ll be waiting.”

The radio clicks, signaling the end of the transmission, and Jack folds it up and places it back in one of the chest pockets of his jacket. For a few minutes he almost felt like he was back on the _Carl Vinson_ , joking around with all of his friends, and that this whole thing is just a nightmare he can wake up from. But the silence of the radio and the stillness of the trees around him force him back into reality, and he hates it. Hearing Aster’s voice on that radio was a godsend, but he’s right. Time to rest would be precious, and he needs to do it while he can.

So while a small part of him wishes that Aster actually had told him a bedtime story, he forces his loneliness and nervousness back and begins to scout out a good spot for rest. He knows instantly that he will have to climb a tree; he is unfamiliar with the kinds of animals that roam these hills and he doesn’t want to chance an attack by either animal or human. Sleeping on the ground would practically be a death sentence. But as it is winter, there wouldn’t be any cover for him up in the trees, and to forge a little nest out of leave and branches for him to rest on would be an all too obvious trick. He will have to strap himself to a bare tree limb and make sure the trunk is large enough to hide his body from prying eyes on the ground.

Jack meanders around for several minutes before he finally finds a suitable tree –the trunk is large, the branches will support his weight and aren’t too close to the ground, nor too far up, and it appears to be shaded by other nearby trees.

“Best I’m gonna get,” he mutters as he hoists himself up to the nearest branch and begins to shimmy up the tree truck. He hesitates at a few sturdy looking limbs before decided on a higher one, nervous about falling out but even more nervous about being caught.

It takes him even longer to figure out what to do with his pack and gun; he ends up slinging them around a smaller branch that stuck out from his bough –within reach but supported so that they won’t go tumbling to the ground.

He then carefully shrugs his jacket off and prays that the sleeves are long enough to tie around his legs and the tree limb –they are. He breathes a sigh of relief and nestles back against the trunk. The whole affair is uncomfortable –the rough bark scratches and pokes him through his clothes and every time he starts to nod off he jerks himself awake, afraid to actually fall asleep in case he falls or misses the man in the black robes. He wants to know if and when Black Robes goes ahead of him.

Worry and anxiety can’t get the best of his exhaustion, though, and he eventually finds himself stuck between sleep and wakefulness, where every sound translates into his waking nightmare –the creaking of trees becomes the sound of gunshots as he watches everyone he loves die in a spray of bullets, the skitter of animals is the sound of the enemy creeping up to kill him, too.

Eventually his eyes snap open and he is freed from the nightmarish prison of his own imagination, drenched in a cold sweat and still tied to the tree limb. Luckily his pack and rifle are still on the branch as well, and he quickly sets about untying himself and shimmying down the tree. He glances around him, uneasy about having been left alone for the entire night. He’d rather expected to be awakened to the sound of gunfire and orders shouted in languages he doesn’t understand, but it is obvious that, aside from the natural sounds of the landscape, it is a normal, peaceful morning.

Well, it _would_ be normal, if he weren’t being chased by a contingent of bad guys.

He sighs and shakes his head, trying to focus. He has been told to get his ass to Hač, one of the safe zones that the UN set up during this mess of a war. The UN claims that the safe zones, established in cities like Sarajevo, Srebrenica, and Hač, are a collective humanitarian effort to protect the citizens of Bosnia from the ravages of war. But they are controversial, and Jack remembers learning in training that Bosnia doesn’t even bother to put any effort into keeping the peace in the safe zones. They are supposed to be safe for everyone –NATO, American, Bosniak, Croat, and Serb alike.

But just because he is headed to friendly territory doesn’t mean he can relax just yet. He makes sure his rifle is loaded and his pack is securely on his shoulders before he consults his compass and heads out, hopefully in the direction of his rescue. He feels the familiar flush of determination color his cheeks as he thinks about how he will have the rest of his life to hang out with his friends and find out what makes Aster tick.

Because he _is_ going to get out of this alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have over a hundred more views on this fic over on ff.net. LAME. xD  
> Follow me at americaengland or trumpet-geek on tumblr!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jack Frost, a disillusioned Lieutenant in the United States Navy, is shot down behind enemy lines, he begins to realize that his yearning for adventure might be his downfall. Luckily he’s got Tooth, North, Aster, and a whole boatload of people trying to get him home, and he might just make it…if the mysterious tracker doesn’t get to him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp I didn't get the job I interviewed for, so maybe posting this and seeing your responses will cheer me up a bit.

He’s been walking for hours when he first hears the noise.

It is an odd sound, something that doesn’t quite fit in with the natural sounds that surround him. He stops and listens, stilling himself and regulating his breathing, ears straining to catch the sound again –but to no avail. He dismisses it, thinking it to be a product of his overactive imagination –his body might be rested, but his mind certainly is not.

In this way he plods through the trees, taking out his compass and map every few hours to check his course. He is not making time nearly as fast as he would have liked –he has to stop every so often and check his surroundings, because with it being winter the forest floor is littered with crunchy leaves and dry twigs that snap under foot, and it is difficult for him to distinguish something foreign from his own sounds. He is also finding that he needs to watch his steps –the forest floor is covered in decaying tree stumps, which look as though they’d been deliberately and hastily hacked off, as well as strange dips in the earth. He’d almost been caught unawares a few hours ago and stumbled into a shallow ditch, and it hadn’t helped that the leaves and brush had hidden it from view.

He comes to a clearing and stops, squinting up at the sun. It looks to be about noon or a little after. This looks like a decent place to stop and rest –across the way the trees are a bit thinner, providing a bit more coverage but giving him an open area where he can see should anyone try to sneak up on him. Open spaces might be a risk for him, but they are a risk for his enemy, too. He settles down against a tree trunk and sighs. All the adrenaline he’s carried with him from the day before is gone, and now he just feels so goddamn weary. He tries to keep a hopeful attitude, but Sandy’s death weighs heavily on him. The thing about having so much alone time is that now he has all the time in the world to think about all the things that went wrong, all the things he shouldn’t have done. He replays their conversation over and over in his head, damning his past self each time those four words pass through his mind: _Want to go investigate?_

He’d been looking for a fight, hadn’t he? How he wishes he’d never opened his mouth.

His thoughts are spiraling out of control –he has to get ahold of himself! Not only is now _not the time for this_ , it just isn’t safe to let his thoughts stray _period_. So he breathes slow and deep and unstraps his radio.

“Nor –“ Jack coughs and clears his throat, voice rough from disuse. “North Pole, this is 05.”

Jack only has to wait a few moments before Tooth’s excited voice drifts across the airways. “Ja –I mean, 05! How are y –I mean, what’s your status? Have you eaten? Do you have enough water? Are your feet staying dry?”

Jack laughs. It has only been a few hours since they had last talked, but he can understand her sentiment. Right now he lives in a world of unknowns –he has no idea if his next step, his next breath will be his last, or if he’ll ever see his friends again. Or, if he comes out of this alive, if he’ll even be the same person. One thing he does know for sure is that his friends will do anything to get him out of this mess, and every time he hears a friendly voice on the radio he’s reminded of how many people has his six, Tooth included.

Her worrying is a friendly reminder that he is alone in the woods, but he isn’t _alone_.

“Tooth Fairy! Hey hey, I’m fine!” He says soothingly, still chuckling a bit.

“I know, but we just…we worry.”

“I know,” he murmurs. He lets the conversation lull a bit, still weary of giving the radio too much of his attention. A sudden gust of wind sweeps his hair off his face and blows the dry leaves into a frenzy. “You and Santa, you’re doing well? And Ph –I mean, uhhh…the Yeti?”

“Yes, all doing well!” Nick yells directly into the radio. Jack can just make out Phil’s grunt of displeasure at the new nickname and Tooth’s pained cry in the background as North steals the radio away. He has to bite his lip to keep his amusement in check.

“Good to hear, big guy. Listen, can you hand me to the Easter Bunny?”

“Sure sure, we hand you to loverboy!”

Jack flushes, embarrassed, but Aster’s voice over the radio pulls a smile to his lips.

“05?”

“Hey Bun-Bun,” Jack murmurs. His heart pangs a bit at the sound of Aster’s voice; it hasn’t been that long since he’d last seen him, but it feels like years. “Miss me yet?”

“…You know I do.” Aster’s response is equally quiet and wistful. “I just… Want you home safe, Ja -05.”

“God, Bunny,” Jack whispers, sinking to a crouch against a tree trunk and very much not thinking about how Sandy will never get to come home.

“How are you holding up?” Aster asks. His voice is calm across the airwaves, soothing and comforting in a way that spoke of confidence in Jack’s abilities.

“Good, all thing considered. Though I think Tooth might take one look at me and try to stuff me with food once I get back. Not exactly an environment that encourages fine dining.”

“I’ll take you out to the nicest restaurant you can find, Snowflake.”

“Snowflake?” Jack teases as the radio lapses into embarrassed silence. “How cute! You have a nickname for me!”

“…I take back what I said about feeding you.”

“Too late,” Jack sing-songs, grinning.

“You’re a little shit.”

“I love you, too.”

The radio is silent, Jack bites his lip and groans, head thudding back against the tree truck. Why did he have to say that?

“Uh, we should probably talk about that, huh.”

“Didn’t seem overly interested in talking at the time,” Aster points out, smirk evident in his voice.

“No,” Jack agrees. “I had other things on my mind. Not that you seemed to be objecting.”

Aster’s bark of surprised laughter sparks a curl of warmth in Jack’s chest, and he smiles.

“Bring me home, Bunny, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Next time it won’t be in a closet, that’s for sure, mate.”

The radio rasps a bit and suddenly North’s voice booms out across the airwaves. “You did _what_? In a _closet_?!”

Jack can’t help it –he laughs so hard he snorts, the cold air burning his lungs as he tries to suck in breath. Oh god this is too hilarious. He’s almost glad he’s not there, because he would have so much trouble looking Tooth and North in the eyes right now. Poor Aster.

Jack’s laughter sobers almost instantly as the hair on the back of his neck rises. He’s being watched, he can _feel_ it. He brings the radio to his lips and, very quietly, whispers, “Someone’s coming.” He keeps his finger on the transmission button, terrified that a stray sound can mean the difference between life and death. Very slowly he turns, crawling to peer around the trunk of the trees he’s been leaning up against. At first he can’t see anything, but a flash of light catches his eye and –there, about a hundred yards away stands Black Robes. It only takes Jack’s tired mind a millisecond to realize he is staring down the barrel of a sniper rifle before he is up and moving.

“Shit! Shit shit _shit_!”

A bullet zings past him and the tree to his right explodes; he barely flinches as a shard of bark scores a line along his cheek. Jack breathes harshly and tries to focus on not dropping his only line of communication as he zigzags. He needs to focus his thoughts and recall some of his training, but it’s as though his mind is a blank slate, wiped clean by terror and a sudden spike of adrenaline. All he can do is breathe and run and pray and hope that that will be enough to save him.

He chances a glance back, trying to gauge the distance between himself and his pursuer and sees that the man is already lining up for another shot at him. All he can do is keep running, keep creating angles between them, but this time it isn’t enough.

Jack cries out when the bullet grazes his upper arm, ripping through cloth, muscle, and skin. He stumbles and falls, groaning as he throws out his free hand to catch himself.

“Fuck!”

He’s been running uphill, and he’s fallen close to the crest of it. Black Robes might have the advantage in the distance but Jack has the advantage when it comes to speed, and if he can get up and over the top of the hill he’ll have a few precious seconds where the sniper won’t be able to see him. Maybe he can gain some distance. He knows he is grasping at straws, but it is all he has.

Jack scrambles up the crest of the hill, trying to ignore the spray of dirt that flies up from another near miss, and almost rolls down the other side –after a few fumbles he gets his legs back under him again and takes off. He is panting now, his breath visible in the wintery air. Against his will, his thoughts turn away from the situation at hand, back to his friends and –

“Aster,” he pants, but stops; he realizes he doesn’t know what to say –there is nothing _to_ say.

A sudden noise like the cracking and felling of a tree rents the air behind him and he spins. His mouth drops open –there, at the top of the hill he’d climbed, stands approximately fifty men and two tanks. The men have stopped movement and are shouting at each other in a language Jack doesn’t understand –looking for him, he realizes.

He starts, instinctively wanting to bolt but afraid the movement might attract their attention. As slowly as he can, he kneels down on the ground and begins to crawl, wincing at every sound he makes as he scrapes his way through the crunchy leaves and the dead branches. He is so busy looking behind him to make sure none of the men have caught wind of him that he isn’t paying attention to what’s in front of him. The ground abruptly drops away under his hands and he falls forward with a cry, tumbling down a muddy bank and into a ditch.

Jack lands face first in the muck at the bottom of the ditch and groans. He raises himself up on his hands and knees and moves to spit out some of the mud that has gotten into his mouth and freezes.

He breathes in, breathes out slowly and brings a shaky hand up to cover his mouth. All around him, mostly covered by the mud, are dead and decomposing bodies. He hasn’t fallen into a ditch –he’s fallen into a mass grave.

He doesn’t have time to freak out though –he knows he’s just made enough noise to alert his pursuers to his position, and even worse he knows that he has no time to run. In just moments they will be on top of him, and he will be dead (he purposefully does not think about the fact that he is already lying in a grave). So he does the only thing he can think to do –he rolls around in the mud, making sure to coat his clothing and hair in the gunk, grabs what is left of the nearest body to drape on top of him, creates an air pocket so he won’t suffocate, and plays dead.

* * *

 

Aster shakes.

He isn’t alone in the bridge, but luckily the only others there are Master Chief Tooth, Lieutenant Commander North, and Phil the intelligence officer. He has a sneaking suspicion that they know exactly how much he cares for Jack, and it is almost a relief that he doesn’t have to bury his fear underneath his usual cool façade –he doesn’t think he can at this point, anyway.

Everything had started off so happy –it had been so good to hear Jack’s voice again, to be able to joke and laugh with him as if nothing is wrong. But then, like a switch, everything changed, and that is the moment they all realize that there is a huge difference between objectively knowing that Jack is in danger and actually hearing it on the radio. Now they can hear in real time the shaky fear in Jack’s voice, his little trembling gasps of pain, his panicked, hitched breaths. Every sound serves to break their hearts just a little more.

It feels, to Aster, like they are all just replaying in their minds the moment when Jack realized he wasn’t alone. “Someone’s coming,” he’d whispered. He’d sounded so scared and it was at that moment that Aster knew he never wants to hear Jack’s voice sound like that ever again.

And now they are forced to sit still and listen to the rest of the Jack’s transmission, knowing full well that it could be the very last thing they ever hear from him. God knows they’ve already heard enough to fuel their nightmares for months to come.

For a few seconds all they can hear through the static is Jack’s frantic panting and the squelch of what they hope is mud, and then the rumble of tanks pierce through the semi-silence.

“It sounds like they are right on top of him!” North stage whispers. Tooth shushes him.

They all stand, silent and still, listening. The din grows louder, and then quieter, and then all they can hear are voices. Phil quickly takes his seat and puts his headset on, heavy brows furrowing in concentration.

“Search them,” he says, translating. “Search the bodies.”

“The –the _what_?”

There is more shouting across the airways, and Phil says, “use the spikes.”

From somewhere behind him he hears Tooth let out a miserable sound. All Aster can do is stare at the radio and listen as the wet suck of the mud softens the dull sound of flesh being stabbed and ripped open as the Serbs search for his –for Jack.

“Bozhe moy,” North whispers. My god.

It is just like watching a horror movie with a blindfold on, but this is _real_ –it is actually happening and the four of them are powerless to help the one they love.

* * *

 

“Не ваља! Није овде!”

Jack doesn’t speak Serbian, but that seems to be some kind of signal or order to leave, because within a few minutes he can feel the rumble of the tank engines turning on and the sounds of the men and machinery growing more and more distant. It takes nearly every ounce of will power to stay still, to keep listening. Just because his ears are telling him that they are leaving doesn’t mean they actually are, but oh god he just wants so badly to scramble up and _get out_.

As it is, he can only force himself to stay in the ditch for another ten minutes, because he is running out of breathable air.

The adrenaline from earlier is gone, replaced with hollow exhaustion. The muck sucks at his limbs when he tries to move, drags him down into the bog and makes him wish for just a second that he can just lie there and let it take him. He managed to lift his arms out of the muck and realized that the radio is still clutched in his hand.

Jack stares at it. He is so tired, but he knows that his friends are on the other side, that they need him to come home. He works his other arm free from the muck and begins to army crawl to the other side of the dit –grave. It is a grave –and once there, he almost doesn’t have the strength to haul himself out. It is by strength of will alone that he manages, and once he’s clawed himself up he pitches over onto the snow bank the realization of what has just happened begins to set in.

“Oh god,” he breathes. He can feel his heart rate start to skyrocket as his breathing picks up. He’s been so focused on survival that he hasn’t thought about what it was exactly that he’d been lying in. Objectively he’d recognized the ditch as a grave when he saw the remains, but he hadn’t –oh god, and the mud covering his clothes and coating his skin isn’t just mud, but partially liquefied remains of hundreds of human corpses.

Bile rises up in his throat and he jerks his head to the side and retches, horrified and distraught. He throws up so hard that his vision swims and his stomach cramps, and he has to close his eyes to keep the vertigo at bay. Once he is done he drags himself as far away from the grave as he can get, choking on his own fear.

Distantly he becomes aware of the sound of static, and it takes him a moment for his hysterical mind to realize that it is the radio –he’s dropped it a few paces back, and now that the transmission button isn’t being held down Aster can contact him.

Oh god, Aster. He’d heard –but at least he hadn’t _seen_.

“O5, come in. 05? Goddamnit Jack pick up the goddamn radio or so help me –“

Jack crawls back on shaking limbs and picks it up –thank god the snow has wiped it mostly clean of the mud.

“Aster, Aster –“ He meant to reassure, but he is pretty sure it comes out as a sob, so he clamps his mouth shut.

“God Jack –“

“Aster it’s all over me!” Well, he’d tried to stop, but now it’s like the panic is bubbling up and spilling out of him and he can’t tamp it down. He is sobbing in earnest now, so hard that he feels like he is tearing his throat to shreds. Aster makes a confused sound and Jack keens. “Oh _god_ Aster, it’s –“

“What! _What’s_ all over you, Jack?”

“Their bodies!”

“What?!”

“I fell into a mass g – _grave_ , Aster.”

There is a sickening silence on the other side of the radio for a terrifying instant jack is afraid they’ve lost connection or that Aster has left him, but then Tooth takes over, her voice mostly steady –calm and motherly. Jack tries to breathe slowly.

“Jack, we need you to get to a water source. You need to get clean so you don’t get an infection or get sick, okay?”

He lets out a shaky breath. “Snow work?”

“Yes.”

Jack scrambles over to a patch of clean snow and doesn’t hesitate to scoop it up in his hands and brush himself off with it. Some of the muck has dried on him and comes off in sloughs, but most of it is still wet and goopy and sticks to his fingers as he works. It only takes about fifteen minutes to get his clothes, hair, and skin clear of the mud, but he keeps going, scrubbing furiously at whatever bare skin he can find, convinced he is still dirty. He can feel the grit of it on his cheeks, can feel his hair lying flat with the weight of it, and it makes him want to vomit again but he chokes it back.

He is losing himself, he can feel it. Jack forces himself to stop scrubbing –he forces himself to take a deep breath, to actually look down at himself and see that the mud is gone with his own eyes. The mud is gone and he is clean and he might still be feeling the phantom grit of it on his skin but it isn’t really there. He stays kneeling in the snow for a moment longer, welcoming the cold numbness creeping up into his hands and knees. The cold helps him focus, helps anchor him to reality.

“05?”

Jack sighs and picks the radio back up from where he dropped it. Thank goodness it is waterproof. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Jack…”

“Where’s… Where’s Aster?”

“He left to go talk with Admiral Lunar,” Tooth says, sounding worried. “He told me to remind you that your orders are to get to RP Hotel Alpha –“

“-Charlie Niner, yeah, I got it.” Jack frowns. “Aster, is he -?”

“He was…really upset, Jack. As soon as he heard what you said about the –he tore out of here saying something about having a chat with the admiral. He wants you back right _now_ –we _all_ do, but I think he’s taking this so hard because he’s your CO and he also –well.” Tooth clears her throat.

Jack grins and sings, “he wants to kiiiiss me, he wants to huuuug me –“

Tooth and North laugh and tell him to check in again the next day.

As he folds the radio up and sticks it back in his pocket, he tries to smile. It doesn’t quite come to him, not yet, but maybe if he keeps trying he’ll remember how to smile again.

* * *

 

Just a note -I have the opportunity to go to ACEN to meet one of my best friends for the first time, so if you have a few spare bucks and want to help me out, [I've opened art/fic/cosplay prop commissions](http://frostedhips.tumblr.com/post/78774540133/help-me-get-to-acen-to-meet-one-of-my-best-friends-for).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Не ваља! Није овде!” Serbian. No good! Not here!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jack Frost, a disillusioned Lieutenant in the United States Navy, is shot down behind enemy lines, he begins to realize that his yearning for adventure might be his downfall. Luckily he’s got Tooth, North, Aster, and a whole boatload of people trying to get him home, and he might just make it…if the mysterious tracker doesn’t get to him first.

“ _I fell into a mass g –_ grave _, Aster_.”

Aster had lost it the moment Jack had uttered those words, voice reedy with pain and hysteria. He’d furiously worked his lip between his teeth for a few seconds, barely able to think through the sudden drop of dread and rage in his stomach. Not even a second later he’d handed the radio off to Tooth and walked stiffly out, barely pausing to tell her to remind Jack of his orders before he left.

He is the kind of pissed off that makes him calm and quiet –dangerous. Jack has _fallen into a mass grave_. That is an experience that the white haired man will have to live with for the rest of his life. He is going to wake up from dreams filled with decomposing limbs grabbing at his clothing, faces of the dead pleading for closure that Jack can’t give. And it is all because Admiral Lunar had refused to pick Jack up when he’d first gone down. All of this pain and fear is because of _Admiral Lunar_.

Aster knows he is being selfish, knows he is about to do something incredibly stupid, but he can’t bring himself to stop –every time he tries, he hears Jack’s voice, whispering words of horror into his mind.

He keeps himself from busting the admiral’s door down, but it is a near thing.

Admiral Pitchiner turns, surprised, and Aster feels his rage abate. “Commodore Bunnymund, what –?“

“I’ve just spoken with Jack –er, Lieutenant Frost. We need to get a rescue team ready as quick as possible, he’ll be at Hač tomorrow –“

“Commodore Bunnymund!” Lunar’s voice is so angry that Aster’s jaw shuts with an audible click, automatically following the unspoken order to shut up. “What do you think you are doing?”

Aster bristles, his frustration coming back to him like a tidal wave. “Sir, because of your negligence, my navigator just –“

“My _negligence_? Commodore, I am _not_ the one trying to throw away peace for one downed pilot who has been trained to find his way home again. I am _not_ the one who is doing the neglecting here.”

Aster stares at him in disbelief.

“Jack has been running for his life –literally! –for _days_ , without rest, food, and with minimal water. He has been shot at, he’s been injured, and he’s been emotionally traumatized. None of this would have happened if you’d just gone to rescue him in the first place!” Aster’s voice started off at a respectable level but by the end he is no longer able to keep himself under control. “How can you possibly think that you aren’t to blame for this!”

“Aster!” The look Sera Pitchiner gives him is equal parts stern and understanding, and Aster looks away, angry at himself. She turns to Lunar and says, “I’m sorry for my subordinate. His only fault is that he gets too attached to those who follow under him. Lieutenant Frost is not just a boy under his command, but a good friend to the commodore. It is only natural for Bunnymund to be concerned for his safety, but that does not excuse his behavior today.”

“No, it does not. See that it doesn’t happen again.”

“Sir. Now, if you will please excuse us, I think I need to have a chat with my subordinate.”

“Indeed you do, Admiral Pitchiner. See that he is kept on a tighter leash.”

Aster growls and starts forward, but Pitchiner grabs him by the arm and drags him back. She marches him out of the room and down the hallway, trying to find an empty room. Once she finds one she shoves him inside and shuts the door behind him. Not for the first time, he finds himself almost scared of her.

She crosses her arms over her chest and frowns at him. “Aster, what you did just now was very stupid and reflects badly on me as your commanding officer. We cannot afford to be on Admiral Lunar’s bad side, do you understand?”

For the second time in as many minutes, Aster’s ire cools, and he is left feeling hollowed and lost. Pitchiner sighs and uncrosses her arms, posture becoming a little less cold and intimidating.

“I won’t pretend to understand what Lieutenant Frost means to you, but I have observed your interactions and I know that you care about him, perhaps more than a superior officer should.” Aster flinches and she sighs. “I’m not here to condemn you, Commodore. I just want you to know that I understand your frustration with the situation, perhaps more than you knew.”

Aster bites his lip and glances up at her through his fringe, hopeful. “Then you can help me get him back.”

“It’s not as easy as that, Commodore. I can’t make any promises to you, but I want Frost back as well. I’ve watched him…become. He and his pilot have been under my command since they first set foot on this aircraft carrier, and I have come to respect them on both a professional and personal level. Mansnoozie’s situation is sad, but something we cannot avoid –but we can do something about Frost’s.

“I’ll deal with the politics, you just ready your men for a rescue.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

* * *

 

Pitch frowns. He can’t believe the level of incompetence that the General’s men had displayed. He’d practically giftwrapped the target for them and they _still_ managed to lose him –how they are apparently not able to differentiate a live body from ones that have been dead for years is honestly beyond him, but that is what happened, and now he is back on the brat’s trail. Luckily for them, it looks like the kid is circling back toward Hač –he must think that town is still a safe zone.

The American –Jack, if Pitch’s hearing is as good as he thinks –is injured, tired, and in need of food, water, and rest. The poor, sweet boy is going to be in for a sorry surprise when he reaches Hač and finds out it’s not nearly as safe as he thinks it will be.

Pitch digs his phone out of his pocket and dials General Winter.

“Sir, the target is headed back toward Hač.”

“Good. I’m sure the civilian populations will thank him for giving us a reason to come _knocking_.”

Pitch grins and thinks about pretty white hair and how much prettier it will look with a little red in it.

* * *

 

Jack stops a little ways off from the edge of the forest to rest. In his panic he’s forgotten about his injury, and he needs to at least attempt to treat it before he leaves the cover of the trees. Besides, he knows that even if his mind won’t – _can’t_ –rest, his body probably needs some time to recuperate its strength.

All US soldiers carry a small first aid kit that consists of a field dressing, a compress, sterile pads and bandages, pain relievers and fever reducers, antibiotics, and alcohol (unfortunately not the fun kind). He pats at his chest and pants, trying to find where he’s put the first aid kit, but then he realizes that it has been in the pack and that he’s left at the crash site and groans. Without it he has nothing to clean his wounds with, let alone bandage everything up and keep it all protected.

He could search for a stream, but the water will likely be impure and he will not risk starting a fire, in case the smoke alerts his enemies to his location. He eyes the banks of snow warily, realizing that it is his only option at this point –because leaving his wound untreated would be a mistake he can’t afford to make. It could get infected…or worse.

Jack sighs and with one last glance at his surroundings he unzips his flight suit. It is basically a heavy-duty onesie, so when he gets his arms free he leaves it hanging at his waist, sleeves tied around his front to keep them from dragging across the ground and hindering his mobility. He immediately shivers –he is only in a white muscle tee, and it is cold. By the time he kneels down to get a handful of snow, his teeth are chattering, and he knows he’ll have to make this as quick and perfunctory as possible or risk freezing.

Jack tilts his head to get a good look at his arm and grimaces. The blood is still oozing, but sluggish. He looks down at his flight suit, noticing for the first time how much blood has been soaked up by the material. He is lucky. _Really_ lucky, considering several inches to the right and it might’ve been his heart.

This probably isn’t going to feel all that great, but it has to be done. The snow he’s had in his hand has mostly melted, so he scoops up more snow and without hesitating cups his wound with it, hissing as pain flares to life beneath his frozen palm. The shock and adrenaline from earlier had served to dull the pain, but the harsh cold of the snow awakens it now, sharpening it to an acute burning sting. His arm muscles tense against the pain and more blood trickles out, turning the snow to a slushy red. He lets it fall between his fingers and scoops up more. Jack snarls under his breath as he rubs the snow into his wound and brushes it away, watching sparkles of red fall back to mar the ground.

He repeats the action until he feels that his wound is as clean as it is going to get for the time being, and once he is finished he rips off a strip from the bottom of his tee and uses it as a makeshift field dressing; the blood had been a mere trickle earlier but the cleaning made it flow again, and he doesn’t want to lose much more. He can’t exactly get a transfusion out in the woods, after all.

Jack unties his sleeves and shrugs the top of his flight suit back on –he can’t even feel the cold anymore, and he is pretty sure that is a bad sign. It isn’t that late in the day –the sun is just beginning to set, and since it is winter, that means it is probably early evening. He considers for a moment staying there on the edge of the woods, but there is no shelter; the trees aren’t as tall and their foliage doesn’t provide much cover.

He glances down, guarded. He is alone for the moment, but that doesn’t mean he will be for long. Continuing on would be his best course of action, even though it means leaving what little shelter the forest provides. He needs to get to Hač anyway, has to be there for his pick up the following day.

His rescue is something he tries not to think about. He wants so badly to hope that his rescue will go according to plan –that he will be returned safely to Tooth and North and Aster, that by this time tomorrow they will be laughing together in the infirmary –but there is so much that can go wrong. Hadn’t he just barely escaped his own death? That is proof enough that hope is dangerous.

* * *

 

For an hour he runs without cover, having left the trees behind in order to make his way to the rendezvous point. –it’s been one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of his life. Jack has never felt so exposed, and is cautiously thankful when he finally comes across something other than open field.

It looks like it had once been a working town. There are tall buildings, probably apartments, surrounding what looks like a warehouse or a plant. The buildings are all obviously abandoned –they are all old, rusted and crumbling, and the flora that grows through the cracks in the windows and metal is untamed. It looks like it was abandoned in a hurry, too. As Jack looks around himself, he can see snippets of the lives of the people who lived here –children’s toys and broken picture frames, torn bits of what was once brightly colored cloth, all scattered across the ground, ruined by mud and time.

Jack walks a little further in and stops, ears straining. He thinks he hears –there! He ducks behind an empty drum that had fallen on its side and listens, heart pounding in his chest. He thinks he’s alone, but he can just faintly hear the echo of…is that laughter? _Children’s_ laughter?

Okay no, he is officially creeped out.

It is nearly impossible to tell where the sound is coming from, so he creeps forward, using more debris as cover. Jack comes to the corner of the plant building and rounds it, and stop short. He’s come to an open area between two of the plant buildings. Further down, away from the shadow of the plant, is a truck, and a man getting out of it. Jack ducks back, breath catching a bit in fear. The man hasn’t noticed him –he is too busy yelling at an empty metal barrel about halfway between him and Jack.

Jack’s confusion is short-lived as two children pop out from an empty metal barrel. The kids must have come here to play in the old equipment, which explains the creepy laughter. Despite himself he feels his shoulders sag a bit in relief at that. The man yells a bit more –Jack imagines he is scolding his children for playing in such a dangerous place –and gets into his truck. The children run to him, the older one holding onto the younger one’s hand to help her hop over the wires and debris as they run.

The scene is almost familiar, and he can’t help but think back on his own little sister, waiting for him at home. His heart pangs.

Jack waits until the truck’s engine fades away before he moves. He stands up from his crouch to stretch his legs a bit. He takes a step forward intent on leaving this place as quickly as possible despite the shelter it provides, but stops. Something doesn’t feel quite right. He glances over to where the children were playing and replays their movements in his mind. The hairs on the back of his neck and his arms stand up and his mouth falls open when he realizes.

_Wires_. They are barely visible against the dark backdrop of the ground, but luckily there is still some dew clinging to them, which makes them easier to see. He follows one with his eyes and gapes. They are connected to grenades buried partially in the ground. Trip wires, and there are a _lot_ of them, covering almost the entire open stretch between the two plants.

He looks down at his own feet and breathes slowly. There, just an inch or two in front of the toe of his boot, is another wire.

“Oh my god Jack _do not_ panic,” he mumbles to himself. He eyes the wires, and then turns and eyes the open patch behind him. He is about to head in that direction –it looked _much_ safer –when a sound cuts through the empty silence. Three cars pulls up several yards in front of him and six men in camouflage step out holding automatic weapons, all aimed at him.

Oh hell no.

He turns around and runs. It is clumsy at first –he has to take shorter steps to avoid accidentally tripping the wire, and he is pretty sure he looks like a bunny shuffling its too-big feet and hopping away from its prey. He tries to divide his attention equally between the wires and the guns at his back but after the first shot fires he gives up and just runs flat out. As long as he doesn’t step on a grenade, he will be all right so long as he keeps going…right?

In the end it doesn’t matter though; the first person to trip one of the wires isn’t him but one of the men shooting at him, and that starts a chain reaction of earth rocking, ear shattering explosions.

Jack pants as he runs. He manages to miss most of the debris and somehow manages to stay on his feet despite the aftershocks, but the fine particles of dust floating in the air makes it near impossible for him to see, and he curses sharply as he steps on a wire.

Heat. Heat and pain and for a moment he is flying as the explosions sweep his feet out from underneath him and he doesn’t even have time to cry out. And then he’s on the ground again, lying face down in the loose shale several feet away from where he’d last been. How had that happened?

Every muscle aches like he’s been thrown against a wall or just gone through the most intense workout of his life. His ears ring, the sound of debris falling to the ground a tiny suggestion of a noise in the background of his thoughts. Moving hurts, but he knows he should get up, take stock of his injuries and get away from this godforsaken place. He is sure the noise from the explosions have drawn someone’s attention and he can’t afford the be caught now, especially when he is so close to Hač.

Yeah okay, moving definitely hurts. His groan echoes through the eerily silent complex –all the grenades have gone off, and no sound comes from the men who’ve been after him. He assumes they are dead, and he is lucky he isn’t. His muscles scream at him and his arms shake as they support his weight, but they hold, thank god. It takes him a couple tries to get his feet under him, but once he does he is able to stumble away from the wreckage. He keeps a sharp eye out for any other fun little surprises, but luckily there are none.

Jack is tempted to stay, find somewhere to hide out and lick his wounds. This place would be good for that, hiding, but he knows he needs to move. He has a feeling Black Robes isn’t too far behind him, and he doesn’t want to risk another meeting with him just yet.

Just on the other side of the plant is a copse of trees, much to his relief. After the most recent events he wants nothing more than to get back under the shelter of the forest –buildings and open fields leave too much of him open, too many hiding places and too many unknowns lurking around the corners. And the trees will provide him enough cover to check himself over and maybe rest a few moments. He can’t allow himself the luxury of sleep; he is already behind, given the day’s events, and he will have to walk through the night if he wants to make it to Hač in the morning. He isn’t sure when the pick-up is scheduled, but he wants to be ready when Aster radios him.

Oh, Aster. He desperately wants to talk to him, radio silence be damned. It is fairly safe to say that this is the worst day of his life and all he wants is a familiar, soothing voice to calm his nerves and help him focus, but he knows it would be a bad idea. If he talks to Aster now, he is liable to say something he might regret –the proper time for confessions is when he can do it face to face. He wants to be able to read the emotions flitting across Aster’s face when he says it, wants to physically feel it.

Jack sighs and plods on, not wanting to linger too long in the open air. It doesn’t take long to reach the trees, and by then he really is starting to feel the effects of the blasts. He sits down with his back against a tree and starts feeling his limbs, checking for broken bones. Everything checks out all right, and it doesn’t hurt to breathe so he probably doesn’t have any broken ribs. His hearing is coming back and his eyesight is clear. Some of the skin on the right side of his body feels a bit tight and he figures he either scratched himself up or maybe got a few minor burns, nothing that can’t be taken care of at a later date.

Maybe now he can get a little of the rest his body so desperately needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to give everyone a heads up that this may not be updated next week. I've been struggling a lot with motivation and real life lately, so my writing has fallen to the wayside. I've put out most of the content that I had prepared and I don't want to accidentally leave you with no updates because I can't get my shit done fast enough, so I'm going to take an extra week to build my cushion chapters back up again haha. Posting should return to its regular schedule the Thursday after next!
> 
> Follow me at frostedhips or trumpet-geek on tumblr!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jack Frost, a disillusioned Lieutenant in the United States Navy, is shot down behind enemy lines, he begins to realize that his yearning for adventure might be his downfall. Luckily he’s got Tooth, North, Aster, and a whole boatload of people trying to get him home, and he might just make it…if the mysterious tracker doesn’t get to him first.

The sun has finally set, plunging everything into darkness by the time Jack starts walking again. Moving at night is an arduous process, involving a lot of pausing to listen for stray noises, map checking, and careful footsteps. When night falls, the forest becomes almost like a grave, and without a light source it is almost impossible to see where he is going until he is already there.

The night is long, too, and cold. By the time the sun starts to peek over the horizon he feels like he’s lost the feeling in his legs and feet, and that he is just going through the motions of walking because that’s what he’s been doing for so many hours. He is afraid to stop and rest, in case he can’t get back up again. Luckily he is almost there.

Behind him, something snaps in the quiet of the waking forest, and every fiber of Jack’s being snaps awake with it. He doesn’t hesitate –he takes off like a shot, making for the edge of the forest that is just in sight. He doesn’t hear anything chasing him, but neither does he slow down. He’s had too many close calls in the last two days to want to repeat any of them, and now that he is back out in the open, he will have to be more alert anyway.

He flies out of the forest and nearly gets hit by a rusty old pickup. He cries out in surprise and lets his forward momentum carry him out of harm’s way, the truck just missing his hip by inches. The truck skids to a stop and the passenger climbs out, staring at him. Jack tries to control his slowly rising panic and gestures to the American flag patch ironed onto his sleeve. He doesn’t know whether these people are friendly or not, but they aren’t wearing camo, so he takes the chance. The passenger –a short, squat man with a ponytail –points up at the sky, asking if Jack is a pilot in the only way he knows how. Jack nods vigorously and the man nods and gestures for him to get into the bed of the truck.

There are several other people back there with him, and they are all staring. There is a boy with brown hair, can’t be much older than sixteen; next to him is a girl with blonde hair, pretty rare for this area of the world; toward the cab are two others, both obviously older, perhaps in their thirties. Jack shifts and like an unspoken signal they all look away, except for the brown haired boy.

“You American?”

“…Yeah,” Jack says a little breathlessly. “Yeah, I am.”

The boy leans forward a little and sticks out a hand. “My name is Jamie.”

“Jack.”

Jamie has a firm handshake and a smile that is kind, but rough around the edges. Jack can’t help but smile back. The girl next to him pops open a glass bottle of Coke and hands it shyly to Jack. He feels his chest warm at the gesture and takes it with a smile. His canteen had run out hours ago and the Coke is sweet and fizzy on his tongue.

“So where are we going, Jamie?” Jack asks once he’s drained the Coke.

“Hač.”

“Good, that’s… That’s good.”

“You know it?”

“You could say that,” Jack hedges. He frowns and turns away to stare at the passing scenery, irked at himself. In his gut he feels like he can trust Jamie and his –is she his sister? or perhaps girlfriend? –and even though instincts haven’t steered him wrong thus far, he can’t help but be a bit leery about giving away information.

As if sensing his sudden unease, the truck bed lapses into silence, for which Jack is thankful. He’s gone so long without talking –three days, discounting his radio conversation –that doing so is somewhat painful. The Coke soothes it some, but he is still left with no water in his canteen at the end of the day, and he’d just as soon sit in silence and think about what he is going to do once he arrives in Hač than make small-talk with a few teenagers, as harsh as that sounds. Jamie and the girl seem to understand his silence though. They manage to entertain themselves and only occasionally ask him innocuous questions that simply required a nod or a shake of the head.

They have just entered the city limits when Jack feels the inky fingers of dread creeping up his throat. Something feels wrong. The city, normally (he assumes) teeming with life is totally silent. Hardly anyone is about on the streets, and the storefronts look dark and unwelcoming. It reminds him of a forest under threat. Something is _wrong_ here –

Something hisses on the edge of Jack’s consciousness, but before he can register what the sound means, the world around him slides into sudden white-hot pain, and then silence.

He doesn’t think he's lost consciousness, but he isn’t entirely sure how he ends up lying face down in the dirt either. Jack tries to look up, to move his arms to support him so that he can stand –because god knows he doesn’t want to be caught or killed, not after making it this far –but he can’t. His limbs refuse to cooperate.

His mind feels hazy, but he distinctly remembers that he’d just been in the bed of a truck…hadn’t he? He tries moving his head and is met with some measure of success –okay, so his neck isn’t broken –only to find the truck lying fifty feet away on its top. The three unnamed men who’d been in the bed with him are obviously dead, trapped under the weight of all that metal and rubber, but Jamie and the girl are nowhere to be found.

Jack breathes slowly, trying to quell his rising fear. He tries again and this time manages to get his elbows and knees under him. He tries to stand, too, but is overcome with a  wave of nausea and frustration that this has happened _again_. Almost getting blown up twice in twenty-four hours is twice too many times.

Someone is screaming, but it sounds like it is coming from under water. His ears ring with silence, and he brings a hand up to check for blood. Luckily his ears aren’t bleeding, so his eardrums probably aren’t burst. Even luckier, the rest of him seems fine too, except for his ribs. But, he reasons that as long as there aren’t any bones poking out where there shouldn’t be, he is okay. He distinctly doesn’t think about the fact that ribs can break inward, too, because that is something he doesn’t think he can deal with at the moment.

Something hard slams into him and even though he can’t hear, he can feel the cry of pain tearing from his raw throat. For a moment he wonders if he’d been the one screaming earlier, but that thought is lost in the face of this new threat.

It's a man, and Jack realizes he has him trapped against a cement building with a forearm to the throat. The man is yelling at him, something Jack can’t really hear and wouldn’t understand even if he could. He feels his mouth move, knows he is saying “I’m an American!” over and over again, knows that the man probably doesn’t understand him. Luckily for him, Jamie intervenes just as the man wraps a hand around his throat and starts choking him.

“NO! Stop! Стоп! Он је Американац.”

“Ја знам шта је! Он је разлог што су овде опет!”

“Да, али он може бити користан,” Jamie replies, desperation written across his face. His hands are around the man’s arm and he is yanking on it, trying to help Jack get a breath of air, but the man just stares at him and doesn’t budge. For a moment Jack thinks he might have survived the crash just to die like this, might have survived the entire ordeal just to die in a supposed safe zone, but after a moment the man lets go. Jack’s knees nearly buckle, but he shoves his shoulder against the cement and stays upright. He doesn’t think he can get back up if he falls now.

“Come on!” Jamie says, grabbing his arm and tugging hard. Jack realizes he can vaguely hear what Jamie is saying and sends up prayers of thanks to a god he doesn’t believe in. “They’re coming! We have to get out of here.”

Jamie half leads him, half drags him into the building he’d been leaning against, and he is surprised to see a few dozen eyes staring at him from darkened corners. As his eyes get used to the darkness, he begins to make out more of them –men, women, children, and the elderly all huddled together and looking terrified. They must’ve heard the missiles and taken shelter.

Another earth shattering explosion shakes the walls, and bits of the cement ceiling crumbles onto the people huddling below. Jack flinches away from the noise, heartbeat picking up in fear. He can hear the sound of a nearby building collapsing to the ground and realizes that whoever is behind this is systematically destroying buildings because they know that people are hiding in them. Or maybe it's just him they are looking for.

The thought strikes him like a sharp punch to the gut and he curls in on himself slightly, sickened. Jamie looks at him, concerned, but Jack can tell that Jamie is reading his thoughts like words on a page. The fact that the kid isn’t all that surprised makes Jack wonder if Jamie had suspected Jack is a fault from the get-go.

Jack leans over and retches, but nothing but bile comes out. He wipes his mouth off on his sleeve and just barely stops the whine that threatens to bubble out from his throat. Jamie just watches him sadly and mutters something about staying in motion. Jack just nods and lets the teenager lead him from building to building, always taking care to stay out of sight of the Serbs. Jack watches as building after building become nothing but shredded husks, tombs of those felled by enemy guns.

“They’re here looking for me,” Jack admits as they huddle together in an empty shack.

“I know. You must have done something extra bad to get on their naughty list,” the teen jokes. Jack tries to smile, but his face feels frozen in a perpetual mask of exhaustion and horror.

“We need to get out of here, Jamie. Your parents -?”

“It’s just me and Sophie.” Jack figures that’s who the blond girl is and nods. “You have a plan?”

Jack makes a small noise in the back of his throat and glances out the window, body tense in preparation to pull back in case he spots any sign of danger. Snipers are always difficult to spot but the midmorning sun will make it more difficult to hide the glint of a muzzle. He rakes his eyes across the scene, taking in the tanks and the throngs of soldiers as they break down doors and mow down whatever is in their way. A few doors away a man screams and falls to the ground, dead. Jack grimaces and looks away, but a thought strikes him.

“I might just. Jamie, go get Sophie and meet me by the woods north of here. Make sure no one follows you.”

Jamie just nods and like a shadow he’s gone. Jack spares a moment to hope that Jamie and Sophie will be okay, and then he too is gone, moving as swiftly and silently as he can in the direction they’d just come from, back toward the carnage.

It doesn’t take long to find bodies. Most of them are of women and children, a fact that makes Jack’s throat seize with the urge to be ill again, but eventually he comes across the body of a man roughly the same height and build as himself. The man has recently been shot in the back of the head execution style, which is lucky for Jack because the exit wound obliterates most of his face, making him unrecognizable.

That means that when Jack dresses the man up in his flight suit, it might take the Serbs a while to figure out that the body doesn’t actually belong to him, hopefully buying them enough time to escape.

Actually walking out of the building and toward the soldiers who’d spent the last three days trying to kill him is one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do. Luckily the dead man had been wearing camo and a ski mask, so Jack is able to hide his white hair and pale skin from sight, but it takes almost everything he has not to move faster than a self-assured saunter. He forces his tense muscles to relax, even lifts a hand in greeting as he walks past the soldiers milling about the tanks. Jack prays that no one says anything to him as he goes, knowing that if they do his cover would be blown sky high because he wouldn't be able to respond.

One soldier claps him on the shoulder as he walks by and for an instant Jack feels his vision go black at the edges from sheer, unadulterated terror at having been caught and oh god they are going to kill him or worse _torture him_ –but in the next instant the man is gone, walking back toward the tanks that Jack has just left behind. He wants to sob, his legs burning and twitching with the need to run, but he can’t, not yet.

He makes himself wait until he’s circled around, using a few of the buildings left standing for cover before he gives in to the need to get away, and then he can’t run fast enough.

No one follows him, and it isn’t long before he finds Jamie and Sophie hovering at the edge of the tree line. Sophie sees him first, and for a moment Jack is confused by her reaction –instead of recognition, he sees fear and panic in her eyes before she grabs Jamie and forces him down to the ground –but then he realizes that he still has his ski mask on. He rips it off and holds his hands out palm up, trying to calm the panicked girl.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s all right,” he murmurs. He glances back behind him, hoping that no one is looking his direction –if they are, they’ll spot him almost instantly and recognize him from his hair.

“Gerroff, Sophie, it’s just Jack,” Jamie whines, gently pushing his sister off so he can get up.

“We need to move. We’re too close.”

“Yeah,” Jamie says, eyes fixed back on the city he’d probably grown up in. Jack feels sadness well up inside him for Jamie and Sophie but he pushes it aside as they begin the trek to the pick-up spot.

* * *

 

“He’s not here, sir!”

“Search harder! I know he was here,” Winter says. A man comes out of his house, begging and pleading to save his family but Winter pays him no mind, shooting him between the eyes and smiling as his body falls. Maybe if he can make the people believe it is simply because the American soldier had taken refuge among them, they too will turn on the NATO peacekeepers. Winter figures their side can use a few more disposable pawns, after all.

Snow Queen stops up beside him, looking triumphant. He rolls his eyes, knowing she is waiting for him to ask her about it before she mentions anything. “What is it, Queen?”

“They’ve found him,” she croons. “In one of the buildings. Head’s a bit blown off.”

“Good. Show me.” He lets her lead as they turned toward one of the outlaying buildings to their right. “And someone get Pitch!”

The inside of the building is not as dark as he expects, but then that might owe to the fact that parts of the walls and ceilings are missing. A group of soldiers are standing in a circle near the far corner, and Winter guesses that that is where the American’s body is. The soldiers part when come up to them and he is left with a clear view of the body.

The only discernable piece of evidence that the body belongs to the American is the clothing. The rest of him is either crushed by the rubble, burned, or, in the case of his face, missing entirely. It is difficult to tell what color his hair had been because of all the blood, or what color his skin is because of all the blackened burns.

“Roll him over,” Winter commands just as Pitch arrives. On the front of his uniform is a small ribbon with the name ‘Frost’ written on it. It _is_ him, then; that same name had been written on the side of the plane. Winter turns to Pitch and waits as the man kneels to inspect the dead man. Of all the people in this room, Pitch is the one most able to identify Frost –he’s spent the last three days watching him through a scope, after all.

Pitch’s inspection stops short when he spots Frost’s hand –or more importantly, the markings on his hand.

“This is not him.”

“Of course it is,” Snow Queen snaps, angry.

“No, it is not. These marks,” Pitch says, indicating three little dots on the fleshy part of the hand between thumb and forefinger, “are from a Serbian prison camp. I know because I have them myself.” Pitch stands and rolls back his sleeve, showing them identical marks on his own hand.

“He is still out there,” Winter says, pitching his voice to sound like the falling of an anvil. The men flinch.

“Yes, but we can use this to our advantage,” Pitch replies, standing up and wiping his hands off on his robes. “We just make an announcement that we found Frost’s body in a village. Make it seem like he was killed by civilians instead of us. Maybe it was an accident or maybe they saw him as an enemy, it doesn’t matter, so long as he’s dead.”

“Yes, because then the Americans will stop looking for him and we’ll be free to search for that blasted recording with little resistance. Brilliant, Pitch. But you must go after him. You too, Queen.”

“Our pleasure,” Snow Queen says, smiling nastily.

“Oh, and Pitch? When you find him, _shoot him in the head_.”

Pitch grins, teeth sharp and white. “Yes, sir.”

* * *

 

Aster could have danced a jig. After being forced to sit on his hands, he is finally getting Jack back. It will feel so good to have Jack in his arms again, to be able to drag him close and feel his solid, living body warm against his own. More than anything, though, Aster wants to see his face, to see that trademark joyful spark in his eyes. He wants to hear Jack’s voice again, without the distortion of static and distance. He positively aches with hope, but he forces himself to bury it deep.

Now is not the time to give in to his excitement –he can do that later, when it is just himself and North and Tooth and Jack. Now, he is the commanding officer on deck. Now, he is meant to be listening to North as he briefs his Marines on the pick-up, going over the call signs and the details of the plan with the crew who’ll be rescuing Jack.

“Last transmission was here,” North is saying. He points toward a map, which has hastily been tacked up over what had once been a chalkboard. A fat red marker line shows the path that Jack had taken; it is marked with an x wherever Jack had been in radio contact with someone on the _Carl Vinson_. “As you can see, he has circled back toward the crash site. RP is Hotel Alpha Charlie Niner, which is this clearing right –“

Aster jumps as the bang of metal door slamming into metal wall echoes violently through the hangar. He turns to look and his stomach drops as Admiral Lunar stalks through the doorway. It falls even further when he notices Pitchiner hurrying behind him; she shoots him a look that is both nervous and calculating. This can’t be good.

“BUNNYMUND!”

North stops his spiel and his men turn to look at the Admiral. Aster takes a moment to appreciate the discipline instilled in North’s men, that they don’t even look toward the disturbance until North stops giving instructions, and then Admiral Lunar is upon them.

“Tell your men to stand down.”

“Sir, these men are ready –”

“I said, Commodore Bunnymund, tell your men to stand down.” He is right in front of Aster now, chest-to-chest, and what he lacks in height the Admiral makes up for in force of his gaze. Aster suddenly feels terrified.

“But sir, _Jack_ –“

“ _Tell your men to stand down_. Or I will do it for you.”

Aster stares at Lunar for a moment longer, but even as he opens his mouth to protest he can feel his shoulders falling in defeat. He knows that arguing with Lunar now, as incensed as he is, will get him nowhere but the brig. Even so, it still takes him several moments to speak, and when he does his voice comes out wrong, thick and scared.

“You heard the Admiral, men.”

Admiral Lunar nods at him and has the nerve to put a hand on Aster’s shoulder, as though telling him he understands how Aster feels. The Aussie grinds his teeth, not needing the look Pitchiner is sending him to understand that punching a commanding officer is a very bad idea.

“Do not worry, Bunnymund. I’ve got a group of men in the air right now, heading toward the RP point.”

Aster’s jaw drops, shocked. “Sir, what –? Why –?”

“Rear Admiral Pitchiner has informed me that your pilot’s story has been leaked to the press, though she was not able to tell me how,” Lunar grumbles, clearly unhappy. Aster casts a glance in her direction and catches her in the midst of suppressing a smirk. So, this is what she’d meant by politics…

“That’s…unfortunate,” Aster manages, too busy trying to keep the triumphant grin off his face to say much more.

Lunar stares at him. “Indeed. At any rate, you are invited to the bridge to bear witness to the rescue operations, if you’d like.”

Yes, he would like. It is just now hitting him that he won’t be the one to rescue Jack after all, and that bothers him more than he is willing to admit. He wants so much to be there, to be the first friendly face Jack sees, to –he doesn’t even know, he just wants to _be there_ , but Admiral Lunar has taken that from him. 

“Yes, sir.”

They sweep through the hallways at a moderate pace, but even that is too slow for Aster’s tastes. Tooth and North fall into step beside him; he vaguely wonders how they got themselves invited, but knowing them they probably haven’t. Those two have known Jack the longest out of everyone on the ship sans perhaps Sandy, and there is no way they will be kept away from this, not even by the admiral.

Before he realizes it, the door to the bridge is standing wide open in front of him. He squares his shoulders and makes to enter, but hesitates. This is exactly what he’s been working toward over the last three days, but something feels off. He can feel the wrongness of it, like something lodged in the back of his throat that he can’t swallow down. Tooth glances back at him and smiles, but he can see that she feels it too.

Once they step through the door, though, that feeling falls away; the bridge is bustling like it almost never is, and it is obvious that everyone there has some role to play in the campaign to bring Jack home. It just adds another layer to the reality that this is actually happening. It soothes some of the anger and frustration to see the men and women in their places, doing what they can to help bring Jack home where he belongs. If he can’t be the one to do it, then at least he can be here, and as long as Jack comes home safe, it doesn’t matter in the end.

Aster’s musings are cut short, and the bridge falls eerily quiet as a TV in the far corner flares to life.

“What’s going on, soldier?” Lunar demands, confused.

Aster turns in time to see Phil moving away from the television set, gesturing toward the screen, and starts. That TV, and several others, are there for the sole purpose of monitoring foreign underground news, a prime method of gathering information that the country’s national news doesn’t want to lend out. On the screen are several men in various stages of combat dress –obvious they had just gone through some kind of battle, if the bodies surrounding them were any indication. They are speaking quickly in what sounds like Serbian. One of the intelligence officers begin mumbling a translation.

“We were patrolling the safe zone when we came across a skirmish. We interfered and found this dead man.” Two of the men struggle with a body, lifting it far enough so that the head and torso are in camera-shot. The sight is ghastly, and immediately Aster feels his blood turn to sluggish ice in his veins. Tooth gasps behind him. “We believe he’s the downed American pilot we’ve been searching for.” No, no, no no no nonono _nono_ – “We think he was killed during the skirmish.”

His vision narrows and sharpens, focusing on the name patch on the body’s chest. Frost.

 _Oh god_.

He turns around and throws up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Стоп! Он је Американац." Serbian. He is an American!  
> “Ја знам шта је! Он је разлог што су овде опет!" Serbian. I know what he is! He is the reason they are here again!  
> “Да, али он може бити користан." Serbian. Yes, but he can be useful. 
> 
> Hey, just a couple things:  
> 1\. Wanted to thank you for the response I'm getting for this fic! I put a lot of time and research into this fic so it really makes me happy to see that people are enjoying it so much <3  
> 2\. I took last week off to get more writing done but instead all I did was catch the flu. So unless I can get busy and crank out another chapter or two this week, I will probably not post until the Thursday after next.  
> 3\. Would anyone be interested/participate if I were to make an ask blog for BEL!Jack and Aster?
> 
> For updates, please follow me at frostedhips and/or trumpet-geek on tumblr!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jack Frost, a disillusioned Lieutenant in the United States Navy, is shot down behind enemy lines, he begins to realize that his yearning for adventure might be his downfall. Luckily he’s got Tooth, North, Aster, and a whole boatload of people trying to get him home, and he might just make it…if the mysterious tracker doesn’t get to him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay. This chapter hasn't been checked over so there may be mistakes.

“Come on, almost there,” Jack pants.

“Jack, tired,” Sophie whines, but Jamie scoops her up and shifts her around to rest against his back, piggybacking her through the woods after the soldier.

Jack feels guilty, knowing that both kids are quickly becoming exhausted. They’ve been running nonstop through the woods for less than an hour, but once adrenaline leaves the body it is difficult to maintain the sharp awareness needed to navigate through the trees and keep out of danger. However, getting to the rendezvous point on time is paramount to their escape and possibly their survival, so they have to keep going. Doesn’t keep Jack’s heart from breaking whenever Sophie looks at him with her tired eyes and asks for a break, though.

Something snaps against Jack’s awareness and he freezes. Jamie runs into him from behind and nearly dislodges Sophie from his back, but one look at Jack’s face stifles his complaint. Jack holds a hand out, telling Jamie with one singular gesture to not move or speak. The boy claps a hand against his sister’s mouth and keeps his eyes trained on Jack’s tense back, waiting for a signal.

“Someone’s following us,” he murmurs, so quietly Jamie almost misses it. “We have to hurry.”

Luckily they really are almost there, like Jack had said earlier. Just on the other side of the trees they can hear the faint sound of quickly approaching choppers, and the ragtag group bursts into the clearing at a dead run, laughing in sheer relief.

Jack is the first to notice that something is wrong.

“No. NO!”

The helicopters are turning around and leaving.

Jamie stops and sets his sister on the ground, staring while Jack runs on, chasing the helicopters down like a madman. He pulls out his semi-automatic that he’d stolen from one of the dead villagers and starts firing wildly into the air.

“STOP!” He screams. “COME BACK!”

But the helicopters continue on. Jack falls to his knees and stares as they disappear behind a copse of trees. He doesn’t move, even when Jamie comes up behind him and sets a hand on his shoulder.

“I was right here,” Jack murmurs, in shock. Tears roll down his face, but he doesn’t seem to notice them. “They didn’t see me.”

Jamie’s heart breaks.

* * *

 

“Jack, why did you come here?” Jamie asks quietly when they stop to take a break.

Jack had gotten them out of there as quickly as he’d been able, after the helicopters left. If it had just been him in that clearing, he wouldn’t have cared, but he had with him two children who depend on his ability to defend them in order to survive, so instead of letting himself go into shock, he had forced himself to stand up and move. They’ve been on the move for a good hour now, wandering aimlessly through the trees and praying that no one is following them.

Jamie’s voice is the first sound any of them have made since the clearing, and it startles Jack out of his thoughts.

“Because I was directed to,” Jack murmurs. “It was supposed to be a safe zone.”

“Then why did they shoot you down?”

Jack gasps, realizing what Jamie is getting at. “Because I took pictures of –oh _hell_. I need to get back to the crash site!”

“Okay! Let’s –“

“No, Jamie. It’s too dangerous for you to come along.”

“But Jack, you –“

“Your sister,” Jack insists. “If something happened to you, who would take care of her?”

“I –“

“Please, kid.”

He thinks Jamie must hear something in his voice or read something on his face, because the teenager shuts his mouth and nods, swallowing. It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to leave Jack, and Jack doesn’t exactly what to leave them either, but the American would rather have them safe and alone than with him and dead.

He waits for Jamie’s verbal affirmation before he turns to leave. Jack only makes it a few paces before he feels a slight weight barrel into him from behind and a pair of smaller arms wrap around him in a desperate hug.

“I’ll miss you,” a small voice says –it is the first time he’s heard Sophie speak, and her voice is wet with tears. He doesn’t look at her or turn around to embrace her, even though he wants to. He reaches down instead, covers her small hands with his and squeezes, trying to impart comfort, but to whom he isn’t sure.

Jamie gently pries Sophie off of him and Jack shoots him a grateful smile. Jack is the illusion of protection, but the reality of danger. The children might feel safe with him around, but he is the target -if they follow him for safety, they will surely get caught in the crossfire. No, it is safer to turn them away, no matter how guilty Jack feels about it.

Jamie staggers his sister back and shushes her.

“Good luck,” he says, and they turn away.

* * *

 

Pitch rolls his eyes again as he listens to the Snow Queen stumble over the brush and curse. Not for the first time, he questions the wisdom of the General and wonders if there is a way that he can _accidentally_ leave the Snow Queen behind. She is loud and obnoxious and Pitch knows that as long as she is along for the ride, they will never catch the American pilot in time to stop him getting in contact with anyone. As far as anyone else is concerned, the boy is dead, and if the Snow Queen lets Pitch do his job, then maybe the boy will _stay_ dead.

The Queen stumbles again and lets out a string of loud curses. Pitch rounds on her, eyes furious. Pitch had forced the Queen to agree to a no talking rule upon entering the woods; he’d explained that not only did sounds not native to the forest carry, but they would also scare the animals, which would serve as a neat warning system for their quarry.

Jasna rights herself and glares at him. Pitch hisses like a pissed off cat and turns; he can hear her rustling behind him, but he doesn’t wait for her to catch up. He only turns back when the rustling abruptly stops and he hears the ominous click of something metallic.

Jasna is standing mid-stride a few feet behind him, a look of horror dawning slowly across her face. Pitch glances down her angled body, the leg that is tilted forward, and realizes how lucky he is that her first reaction is to stop moving instead of trying to get away.

The Snow Queen is standing on a buried landmine.

He looks back up to see that she is staring at him, eyes bulging and mouth moving in silent please for him to help her.

“Help you?” He asks quietly, eyes gleaming in triumph. She shakes her head as he backs away, and when she twitches he pulls out his pistol and trains it between her eyes. “Don’t move.”

Pitch turns and walks away. Several minutes later he hears a loud boom and grins.

* * *

 

Jack knows he’s being followed again, but the awareness comes to him slowly. He is _exhausted_ , utterly spent and barely functioning except for the adrenaline pumping through his veins (he is so very thankful for adrenaline). He’s only been running solo for about an hour, so he hopes to high heaven that Jamie and Sophie were able to escape, that the person following him doesn’t have friends out looking for them, too. His mind quietly reminds him that Black Robes has friends, lots of friends, an _entire army_ of friends capable of murdering innocent women and children, but he shoves the thought away –that way lies madness and distraction. He’s made it this far, he isn’t going to go down because he’s distracted.

Jack nearly bites through his lip when a sharp crack echoes through the forest, followed by a deep boom. A breeze follows in its heels, blowing Jack’s silvery white hair into his eyes as he whirls around toward the noise. A bomb?

It has to be nearby for him to have heard it and then feel it almost immediately after –either that or it was big.

He doesn’t waste time trying to figure it out, and at this point it doesn’t really matter how close or far or many in number the enemy is. This is probably his last act, his last few hours alive. He honestly doesn’t think he’ll make it, not anymore. But if there is even a chance that he can preserve the digital recording for friendlier hands to find after he dies, then that is enough.

Jack’s thoughts threaten to turn to Aster, who is waiting for him back on the _Carl Vinson_ and probably none the wiser to his situation, but the American forcibly derails them. He doesn’t have time, and even if he does, he can’t radio in to say his goodbyes in case he gives away his location.

It’s not much longer before the trees finally separate and the hill comes into view. A few days ago (a few days? it feels more like _years_ ) he and Sandy had crash landed on the north face of the hill, and that is the direction in which he’d fled when the Serbs had tried to gun him down. The hill had been large, but gently rolling and covered in grass and trees. Now he’s staring at an almost sheer cliff face and it takes him a moment to realize that yes this is the right place, he’s just circled around so that now he’s approaching from the south. He hadn’t realized when he’d ejected that this is what he’d almost floated into.

Jack spends precious minutes looking for a way up before he decides to circle around to the side, where the cliff is starting to turn to hill. His climb is slow and arduous and his injuries burn with every shift of muscle beneath skin. It feels like it takes an age for him to reach the summit and by the end of it his hands are seizing from constantly gripping onto the rock. He manages to pull himself up and over, panting from the pain and exertion, and has to spend a moment to get his breath back and flex the ache out of his fingers before he can continue.

He emerges on the eastern shore of the frozen lake. To the right is his landing spot, to the left is the cliff face, and about half way in between sits his abandoned seat.

The thing about knowing you’re probably going to die is that you become a bit more reckless. He knows he should probably stop and check his surroundings, make sure no one is lying in wait beneath the banks of soft snow, but it’s like all he can focus on right now is that seat. The IDEM recording is so close, he feels like he can just reach out and close a fist around it.

There is one thing he checks before he goes running out onto the ice, and that is his weapon. The standard issue Beretta M9 is something he’s intimately familiar with; he knows the grooves and dips of it like the back of his own hand, and he counts himself incredibly lucky to still have it after everything he’s been through. He’d also managed to pick up a rifle along the way; he checks that too, while he’s at it.

“SKS, which means it takes a…7.62x39,” he murmurs, wincing as his voice comes out raspy and painful. He rummages around in his pockets but comes up empty –no ammo, then. He checks the chamber and finds a few rounds, but the gun weighs close to ten pounds and it will only hinder him from now on, so he buries it in a snow bank.

All right then… Jack sighs and grits his teeth, takes off across the ice at a crouching half-run. The ice creaks ominously beneath his feet, but he is naturally quick and light, and the ice holds as long as he doesn’t linger.

It takes several minutes of terrifying, heart-stopping exposure before he slides in next to the seat. The seat looks dead, half crushed from the fall and fused to the ice by water that had leaked out and refrozen. He runs trembling fingers over it, paying no mind to the sharp metal that bites into them as he searches for the IDEM recordings. He’s so focused on finding them that he doesn’t realize right away that the seat _shouldn’t_ be dead –every seat is equipped with a homing beacon, and his isn’t blinking.

“Wh -? Why is this off, why is this…” He trails off as he stares at where the beacon should be flickering at him, but isn’t. The only way it can be turned off is by command, and the only way it can be turned back on is manually by the pilots themselves.

He turns away to start looking for the IDEM, but hesitates. Something niggles in the back of his mind, telling him to reactivate the beacon. Someone in the bridge might see it, and there is a possibility that –oh he doesn’t want to get his hopes up, because he knows the likelihood of anyone in the bridge seeing the signal after so many days of it being inactive…and would he really want to risk leading the enemy to him?

Oh. Oh!

Jack grins. Maybe that isn’t such a bad idea after all.

He rips the cover off and, ignoring the wires spilling out like guts, he rummages around in his pockets, annoyed that he’d been forced to leave his pack back in Hač but thankful he’d had the foresight to stuff some of its contents into the pockets of his jacket.

He pulls things out by the handful and lays them hastily in the snow until he comes across the flashlight he’d kept. Jack unscrews the end and dumps the batteries into his frozen palm, hoping that at least one of them will have the juice he needs to kick-start the homing beacon to life. His stiff fingers fumble with the wires a bit before he manages to thread the red one through enough to bite at it, trying to get the sheath off enough for the metal innards to show.

He presses them against the battery –nothing happens. Jack wants to sob but instead he keeps pressing frantically, fingers getting more and more clumsy until finally the light blinks to life.

“Haha _yes_!”

He lets out a whoop of triumph and tapes the wires to the battery.

* * *

 

It’s been at least an hour; Aster feels the passage of time acutely, but yet at the same time not. It’s as though time is splitting around him, and half of him is with Tooth and North in the mess while the other half is still in the bridge, staring at that awful thing on the television that _isn’t Jack_.

He feels hands on his shoulders and somewhere in the distance he can hear a Russian accent rolling over him as Nick tries to console him. It’s absolutely bloody awful of him, he thinks, to do this to them. Tooth and North, they have known Jack and Sandy for much longer, they deserve to be the ones being taken care of, not him. And yet here they sit, alone in the mess, trying their best to make Aster feel better. No wonder Jack loves – _loved_ them so much.

“I’m sorry,” he says, unable to keep it in any longer. North and Tooth look up at him from across the table, conversation halting mid-sentence. He can’t really tell who he’s apologizing to –them, for being unable to get himself pulled together, or Jack, for being unable to save him. Tooth must see it on his face; of all the people on the _Carl Vinson_ –aside from perhaps Admiral Pitchiner and Jack –Tooth is the one who understands him the best.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Aster,” she says, laying a delicate hand on the forearm that rests on the table between them. “We’ve all seen what you’ve done to get Jack back home. This isn’t in any way your fault.”

Aster sighs out a shuddering breath, turns his hand palm up and grasps hers briefly, needing the contact to anchor him. Because Jack? Jack is _gone_.  Aster will have to live with that fact for the rest of his life. And as much as Tooth tries to convince him that he has no sins to atone for, has done nothing that needs forgiveness, Aster knows that at least part of that guilt and that blame belong to him.

Tooth shoots him a look and opens her mouth and Aster cringes, not able to take any more of her easy forgiveness and acceptance, but he is saved by a deafening commotion on the other side of the mess, near the entrance. Nearly every head turns, but Admiral Pitchiner ignores all of them as her eyes lock onto Aster’s.

“Bunnymund!” She barks. Her voice carries through the mostly empty mess, and Aster tries to suppress a wince at the sharpness of her tone as she approaches. He stands to greet her, but she waves him off. “No time! To the bridge, something’s come up and I figured you’d want to see.”

Aster glances at Nick and Toothiana, silently asking permission for them to join; Pitchiner rolls her eyes but there’s a smile on her face when she nods, telling them to hurry along if they’re going to come.

He hates himself in that moment. As hard as he tries to tamp it down and lock it away, hope begins to flutter in his chest as they rush through the corridors. He’s always been an optimistic person, but this…this is just going to hurt him in the end, because what he’s hoping for can never happen.

Sometimes hope can destroy you.

Aster forces himself to shelve his thoughts as they approach the bridge. As an officer, and as the man in charge of this failed mockery of an operation, he cannot afford to show any more weakness or self-doubt, despite the fact that he feels like he’s drowning in it. He steels himself and, at Pitchiner’s proud nod, strides into the place where he learned of Jack’s death like he owns it.

“What’s the news?” He asks, relieved that his voice comes out firm and steady.

“Sir, the beacon,” Phil says. He sounds confused, and Aster notices for the first time that the atmosphere in the bridge is heavy with uncertainty and an echo of the spark of hope he feels glowing within himself.

“Wh –the beacon? What beacon?”

“The beacon we turned off, the one on Frost’s seat… Sir, it’s been turned back on.”

Aster stares at Phil as the realization of what Phil’s implying sinks in. “The –“

Oh god.

“Sir, as you pointed out, the homing beacon on the seats can only be turned on manually once they’re turned off.”

“It could be a trap,” Pitchiner says, but Aster can hear the hope in her voice. She’s right, they should be weary, but faced with the very idea that Jack isn’t dead, that Jack might be alive and well enough to activate that beacon himself…

Aster meets and holds her gaze. “We will be cautious, but we have to do something. I can’t just sit back, not this time.”

“I understand, Aster,” she replies, her hard gaze softening with understanding. “That’s why I’m going to organize your rescue mission with you.”

“But what about Lunar? He –“

“He can rot in the cradles of hell for all I care,” Pitchiner snarls. “I’ve had enough. This ends today.”

“Oh!” Tooth cries, hands clasped over her mouth. She and Nick look like they are about to burst –Aster knows how they feel.

“You might lose your command,” Aster warns, but he can’t keep the vicious grin from lifting his lips.

“I’m aware of the risks, Commodore,” Pitchiner says. “I think Jack’s life is worth the risk, don’t you?”

“Always.”

“Okay then,” she says, as if that is that, just going to risk her job and a possible court martial like it’s no big deal. In that moment Aster felt a rush of gratitude for her. “It’s your lead, Commodore.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I need to apologize, because even though this fic will update through its completion, the updates will probably be sporadic at best from now on. I've been dealing with a lot of stress in real life and it's been eating away at my motivation. Luckily there are only 2-3 more chapters left until we're finished, so there's a light at the end of the tunnel! I just ask that you be patient with me as I try to sort things out ^_^


	9. update

Hello all!

So it’s just shy of a year since the last time I updated this fic, and as you can see, this is not an update.

I’ve been writing fanfic for almost 13 years, and I have never abandoned or given up on any of my projects…until now. It really does pain me to say this, because in a way it’s like I’m quitting and that’s never been something that’s sat well with me, but I’ve put a lot of thought into where to go from here and the only logical conclusion I can come to is to leave this work unfinished.

There are many reasons why I am doing this, and while I’m sure most of you don’t care about them, I’m still going to explain a bit of my circumstances. In April of 2014 I was hit with some pretty severe writers block, which incidentally lasted seven months and through two fandoms. This was accompanied by a complete lack of inspiration and motivation –I couldn’t for the life of me come up with any aus, headcanons, or ideas worth giving thought to, which is unusual even while dealing with writers block. When I put all of this together, the signs pointed to a fading passion for fandom. This has happened to me in the past, usually if I am active in a fandom and begin to fall out of love with it, and unfortunately that’s what happened here.

That is not to say I don’t like ROTG anymore or that I’ve quit writing –I do, and I haven’t. While I’ve moved on to other fandoms, found another home and another family to write for, that doesn’t mean I don’t still appreciate everything ROTG has done for me, or all of the comments and kudos and bookmarks you’ve given me –not just for this fic but for all of my ROTG works. It’s just a slow, inevitable slide that we all go through at some point or another, we’ve all been there and it sucks.

I will still be around ao3 and ff.net, just writing for the ace of diamond fandom (which btw is amazing if you like anime, pls check it out!) and if you have any questions about the ending of the fic, which I have planned out, or any of the research I did for this project, please feel free to hit me up on my writing blog at trumpet-geek or my main blog wingspike, both on tumblr!

Thank you for everything!


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